“You were told to leave our guest alone,” the new arrival said sternly. “She is ill and needs to rest. Where is your nanny?”
“Nanny’s taking a rest. The lady says dragons don’t really eat children and Georgie won’t get eaten by wolves but we shouldn’t scare the bunnies under the bed so we’re fetching books.”
This run-together speech tumbled from both twins at once. Damaris dared to lift her gaze a little higher to see how the stern stranger took the stream of information—and forgot how to breathe.
Besides being exceedingly tall, the gentleman had shoulders that nearly filled the doorway, a head of chestnut curls as rich as that on the twins, and a heavy-lidded look that almost had her swooning. In fact, she was quite sure she did swoon. She couldn’t remember any man ever looking at her in quite that way—as if she were a plum ripe for savoring.
“I’m sorry you’ve been bothered with my urchins, Lady Alice.” He caught the twins before they escaped and turned them around. “Make your curtsies and begone, heathens.”
Lady Alice? She had thought she was starting to recall . . . But she didn’t know this man or this place or how she had come here. Fear froze any further thought. While the twins bobbed curtsies and escaped, Damaris tested the bump on her forehead. It was quite a large bump. She must truly have scrambled her brains.
How could she possibly contradict a gentleman? She didn’t feel like the kind of person who could maintain a lively banter.
“I’m sorry to have intruded, but the nanny seems to have vanished along with my son. May I have someone bring you something for the pain?” he said sympathetically, apparently noticing her exploration of the bump.
“If your son is Georgie, then he is playing in the woods. And your nanny is in her room, no doubt tippling if I’m translating correctly.” She wasn’t entirely certain she was the kind of person who said things like that, either, but someone ought to see to the safety of the children, even if she had no memory of this man or his family. “And no, I think I’ll suffer the pain until my head is clearer. I cannot remember how I came to be here. It’s like stepping into a new country.”
He raised his thick eyebrows. “You cannot remember anything? That’s quite a nasty blow you’ve taken. Let me fetch my mother while I throw a nanny into the blizzard.”
With that astonishing statement, he followed the twins down the hall.
Would he really throw the nanny into the blizzard? She most certainly was inhabiting some book she must have read. Or she was dreaming. She was fairly certain her name was Damaris. Damaris Bedloe, not Lady Alice. Lady Alice was . . . her cousin!
Oh, dear.
Trev sent a footman in search of Georgie, dragged the nanny out of her hiding place, sent her to the kitchen to drink a pot of coffee, and watched over Mina as she scrubbed her filthy face and hands. Despite this latest contretemps, he was nearly giddy with anticipation.
Lady Alice liked children! Mack’s wife could stay here and help with the household, and maybe even Mack would settle down to the pleasures of the marriage bed. He could use Mack’s help with the damned paperwork. Mack had an excellent mathematical mind when he applied it. Besides, the last steward had left the office in disarray after Trev had sent him packing for pressing unwanted attention on a kitchen maid.
Finding good help who wanted to live in the isolation of the Lancashire moors was not simple. Lady Alice was a stroke of genius on Mack’s part. Perhaps the lad had more Trevelyan in him than he’d shown thus far.
Keeping his hands firmly on small shoulders, Trev steered his daughters toward their grandmother’s suite. They protested, wanting to take a book to Lady Alice, but he’d seen the pain in their guest’s eyes as she rubbed her forehead.
His mother was lounging beside the fire, reading one of the gossip sheets and sipping tea. After the episode with Nanny, he could only hope it was tea.
She looked up with a sigh at the sight of her granddaughters. “Can you not look like respectable young ladies instead of Gypsies just once?”
“The nanny needs to be dismissed,” Trev said. “Meanwhile, I have to prevent these two from driving off our guest. Could you entertain them for a while? I want to find a switch to take to that eldest brat of mine.”
“You can’t beat Georgie for being a boy,” his mother protested, changing her tune as she always did when she was not directly involved. “He’ll be fine. Have one of the parlor maids teach the girls to sew. They should be able to embroider their initials by now.”
The last time anyone had given the twins needles, Mina had sewn her sister to a Restoration-era footstool. They had both thought it quite amusing. “Just watch them, Mother. Read them a book. And if you have anything for an aching head, I believe Lady Alice could use it. She’s refusing to take laudanum.”
“She’s young. She’ll be fine, too.” Vi waved a dismissive hand. “Go on. But if I hear young Georgie crying, it will be on your head.”
Every responsibility in the household had been on his head since his father’s death when he was ten. He had taken his duties seriously, even if his mother never followed through on her threats. Perhaps he should have been the one to run around London, leaving his younger brother to deal with the estate. Then Mack might have had a chance to learn responsibility.
But that had never been an option. If Mack didn’t show up soon, Trev would have to ride out on his own to box his brother’s ears.
He wondered if it would be horrifically inappropriate to ask the lady’s family if they would mind if she married immediately.
Although why the lady was alone was a bothersome question. The Earl of Reidland was a busy man, a widower, but surely he would have sent some relation with his daughter? Trev needed to question the lady—once she was feeling better, and maybe after he strangled Mack.
The effects of the laudanum wore off as the hours passed. Damaris’s head still ached, but she was considerably more clear on who she was and where she might be, although the accident remained murky, and without proper introductions, she couldn’t be positive of anyone’s identity.
The children didn’t return, and she spent the rest of that day idling in bed, alternately sleeping and eating and wishing for a good book. She didn’t have much experience at the life of the idle rich and grew restless with nothing constructive to do. But without her trunk, she had no clothes, or even any mending to keep her occupied.
She needed to explain to the large, scary gentleman that she wasn’t Lady Alice. That kept her fretting. A man who would throw a nanny into a blizzard was likely to send minions to the corners of the earth to drag Alice back here if he wanted her dowry. Although this mix-up was rather fortuitous, now that she thought about it. If she didn’t reveal the charade yet, then Alice might have a better prospect of escaping the gentleman and her father’s wrath. Since Damaris had little chance of receiving a reference from the earl, she was free to do as she pleased, she supposed. Independence came at a high cost, though, if it meant being flung into the bitter cold. She’d rather postpone the pleasure.
By morning, though, she really needed to “recover” her memory and give the viscount Alice’s regrets.
She was still pretty unclear on most of the accident. When a maid arrived to restore the fire, Damaris attempted conversation. “Excuse me, but could you tell me how I came to arrive here? I cannot remember anything except the blizzard.”
The very young maid looked startled to be thus addressed. Not more than twelve or thirteen, the girl dipped her gaze to the floor and returned to building the fire without answering.
Belatedly, Damaris remembered that ladies only addressed upper servants, and she was supposed to be an earl’s daughter. She had an impolite thought or two about that, but she didn’t want the girl to get in trouble. At least the staff must be well trained, even if the children weren’t.
Shivering, Damaris was still debating whether a partial loss of memory justified pretending she was who she wasn’t a while longer when an elegant older woman
with graying hair and high cheekbones entered. Wearing billowing silk skirts fashionable in a prior century, she came bearing gossip sheets and a box of sweets.
“You’re looking better, my dear,” she said in the syrupy voice Damaris recalled hearing earlier. “I apologize for our harum-scarum ways, but I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Mack has apparently been delayed by the blizzard or I’m sure he would have organized us much better. I’m Violet, Lady Trevelyan, Mack’s mother.”
This Mack still had her puzzled, but Damaris responded politely. “Pleased to meet you.”
Lady Trevelyan continued with her own order of business. “Now that the snow is done, we’ll send men to fetch your trunks. Your driver elected to stay at the inn rather than risk his horses in the drifts on unpaved road. Shall we tell him to return south to your father, where the roads are better? We’ll see that you’re safely returned home.”
It would very definitely be a good idea to send the driver home, Damaris decided. She nodded, trying not to panic and wonder how she would leave. But she couldn’t ask for the earl’s valuable cattle to be risked for her sake when the roads south would be much safer.
“I’ve asked Mrs. Worth to bring you a tisane for your poor head,” the lady continued, apparently not needing more reply than that. “And I’ve brought you something to read and some sweets to soothe your spirits until our Mack returns. Cook makes a delicious Swiss chocolate fondant mixed with caramelized sugar. Positively decadent. You simply must try one.” She offered both box and newssheets.
Damaris silently accepted the sweets. Perhaps if she never spoke, she would never have to explain who she was. But she’d been raised properly and couldn’t avoid offering her gratitude. “Thank you, my lady. That is most kind.”
“Violet, you simply must call me Violet. And I shall call you Alice, shall I? We are going to be the best of friends! I do hope your father won’t object to an early wedding. Dear Mack is most impatient! Now I’ll let you rest. Perhaps in the morning, after your trunk arrives, you can join me for a lovely coze!” Without waiting for agreement, she smiled benevolently and swept from the room.
Damaris thought she might have just experienced a whirlwind. Did they expect Alice to be speechless and obedient and without a brain in her head? From the reports she’d heard of Jonathan Trevelyan, that was possible. He would most likely prefer an empty-headed coquette with a large dowry so he might continue his dissolute ways. Or so Alice had said.
But Jonathan had asked for Alice’s hand. Was there another brother called Mack? Not the one who’d offered for Alice.
Her head hurt to think about it. She eased the pain by tasting one of the chocolate sweets, and thought she just might swoon again. Alice had always shared her sweets, but Damaris had never tasted anything so decadently delicious. For chocolate like this, she would pretend to be Alice forever. She could grow quite accustomed to luxury if it wasn’t so boring.
With nothing better to do, she picked up the gossip sheet. It was over a month old, and she had no idea to whom all the initials belonged in the chatty columns. She could follow what the Prince Regent was doing from the HRH, of course, but Alice hadn’t traveled in his circles.
Here was mention of an MT, a Visct T’s brother. Could that be Mack? If so, he’d apparently played a good game at White’s last month, if she understood the slang correctly. He’d bought a pair of new bays. Apparently the new horses weren’t sufficient to bring him home in winter.
Could E of R be Alice’s father, the Earl of Reidland? If so, he was apparently courting a lady half his age. Oh, dear. No wonder the earl had been so preoccupied lately and wasn’t returning home for Christmas! Alice hadn’t told her that. Did she know?
If so, it might explain her haste to escape. That hurt a bit. They used to share everything.
Feeling very lonely, she ate another chocolate.
Even knowing the pandemonium that would reign without any authority in the nursery, Trev informed the nanny she was dismissed and would be leaving in the morning when the men fetched Lady Alice’s trunks. A drunken authority was more dangerous than none at all, and he had a low tolerance for deception.
Leaving behind a weeping nanny, he grabbed his greatcoat and led the footmen in search of Georgie. After finding his protesting son in the woods and banishing him to his room, Trev dealt with two of his tenants over a cattle dispute, grabbed some cold meat and bread off the dinner buffet and finished the accounting for the day. By then, he had almost forgotten their guest. Almost.
The hope she’d brought had carried him through his tasks with a spring in his step that he hadn’t felt in years. She was a slender thing, and the ugly bruise on her brow hadn’t helped her appearance, but in his eyes, she was absolutely perfect, if only because she’d conversed pleasantly with his daughters instead of criticizing them.
It was only then that he realized he hadn’t introduced himself. She’d think him a cowhanded chub and this a very improper household.
He sent a maid up to see if the lady was still awake and would accept a few minutes of company. He was fairly certain that was how it was supposed to be done, although living out here in the wilds most of his life, his experience was secondhand at best. His mother had long since given up any pretense at propriety that would disturb her comfort.
He’d visited with school friends in London before he’d married, knew proper ladies had an etiquette all their own, but left with three children and an estate, he was out of practice.
He stopped in his room and checked a mirror to be certain his neckcloth was still tied and to comb his unruly hair. He really should have it cut, or he would deserve the barbarian epithet his mother frequently cast at him. At this hour, he needed a shave as well, but their guest would fall asleep before he could manage that.
All he needed to do was convince an earl’s daughter that this was a dignified household and that she would be welcome here. The second part was far easier than the first.
She was sitting up against the pillows, reading his mother’s gossip sheets, when he arrived. The maids had burned her torn and bloody gown and dressed her in one of his mother’s bed sacques. She’d apparently brushed out her lovely fair hair and pulled it into a braid. At least she hadn’t thrown a hysterical fit when she’d discovered she had nothing to wear. His mother and his late wife would have been sending footmen out in the blizzard to fetch their trunks.
Before knocking, Trev stole a moment to study this woman his brother had chosen. She had kind eyes, he’d already noted. A wide brow, good teeth, and clear skin. She was no ravishing beauty, but once the bruises faded and she was properly dressed, she’d shine like a subtle ornament.
Which immediately made him suspicious. Mack wasn’t into subtlety. Mack liked flashy jewels. He could only hope that Mack had finally turned a leaf and accepted his duties by choosing a sensible wife. Was that too much to hope?
Probably. Trev hadn’t done so well in that area in his youth, so he was skeptical of Mack succeeding where he’d failed.
He rapped on the door jamb, and she looked up warily. The bruise looked quite painful and seemed to be spreading down her delicate jaw. He was grateful her injuries were not any more serious.
“I’m afraid I was quite rude earlier,” he said, “and failed to introduce myself. I’m Adam Trevelyan, Mack’s brother, and I’m very pleased to meet you. How does your head feel?”
She touched a hand to the worst bump. “I think it is a little better. I’m sorry I was so foggy at our first meeting. Do you mind telling me how I came to be here?”
She didn’t introduce herself, he noticed. Perhaps she thought she already had if her head was still muzzy. He hoped she hadn’t addled her brains. Sitting there in his mother’s bedjacket, she looked delicate enough to snap with a single blow. They were blamed lucky she hadn’t been killed!
“Your carriage went off the road not too far from a local inn,” he told her. “A farmer discovered your plight, wrapped you up and took you
in while your driver settled the horses. Your driver told them your destination, so the innkeeper sent for me. I’m very sorry that our invitation has led to this mishap.”
“A storm this early in the season is unusual,” she said agreeably, not pointing a finger of blame. “We were equally responsible for accepting.”
She seemed to be guarding her words, perhaps because of her memory? He was simply relieved not to be called to task. “I’ll send word to your father of your arrival once the road clears. Is he in London?”
“Yes. He had other plans for Christmas, which is why we thought this visit might be agreeable.”
She kept speaking of we. Uneasily, Trev attempted to find out more without disturbing her. “My men did not mention your maid or companion. Should I be looking for her?”
She closed her eyes and seemed to struggle with herself, crumpling the newssheet in her hands. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he’d ride out and look for the wench himself, but he needed to know who he was looking for.
“She ran away,” the lady whispered. “At the last inn. I’m so sorry to arrive this way.”
“You can hardly be faulted for the actions of others,” Trev said reassuringly, while fretting at the oddity. Lady’s maids did not generally run away. He hoped Mack was not perpetrating some fraud by sending an impostor, but he failed to see the purpose. “I will assign one of the parlor maids to you. She will be thrilled with the opportunity, but I fear she will be inadequate compared to your own maid.”
“That is kind of you. I dislike leaving your housekeeper shorthanded, though. Perhaps your mother would not mind sharing her maid if I promise not to ask for her too frequently?”
She worried about his housekeeper more than a viscountess? Trev shivered at the possibility of more chaos in the household as the servants jockeyed for her good will and ignored his mother. But he supposed the important thing was that Mack was settling down with a good woman. He wished he was better at winkling information out of ladies. He’d love to spend an evening conversing with someone just for the pleasure, and Lady Alice seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.
Mischief and Mistletoe Page 15