He pushed past her in the doorway and glanced around the unlit hall.
"Why aren't the lamps lit?" he demanded. "Where are your staff?"
"I have only a few with me, for I travel back to Kent tomorrow," she said, staring at him in horror. "Pray do come in," she added sarcastically.
He paid her no notice, so she sighed and shut the front door.
"Come into this room and sit by the fire," he ordered. "You'll freeze."
"Right about now, I'll welcome that," she muttered, walking past him and heading for the chair by the fire in the library.
Unbidden, she remembered another cold house, and another fire, ten years before.
***
Olston House,
Kent,
Christmas 1806
The fire burned merrily in the grate of the breakfast room of Olston House, bringing some much-needed warmth into the room. Large and stately though the house may be, a suitable residence for an earl, like all old houses, it was terribly cold in the winter. Lord Olston was wearing one of his warmer velvet jackets at the table, and both his wife and his daughter kept their pretty shawls wrapped around their shoulders as they ate. Their footmen hovered suspiciously near the fireplace in an effort to keep warm as they waited on the family.
"I do wish you wouldn't bring the newspaper to the table," Lady Olston said, frowning at her husband, the earl. "It is impossible to carry on a conversation when you disappear behind it."
"Breakfast time is far too early for conversation," the newspaper replied. "Besides, this is only three days' old. Got to keep up to date if we're going have one of your parties, m'dear. Can't be seen to be behind the times."
The earl held the newspaper away from him at arm's length, and peered at it.
"Don't know why they use such tiny print, though," he grumbled. "A man can't be expected to read that without a magnifying glass!"
"Then put it down, and talk to your family!" Lady Olston scolded. "William is arriving today, or so he writes. He will want to talk to his papa at meal times, not watch a newspaper eat its toast!"
Lady Serena Olston, the nineteen year old daughter of the house, looked up from her own plate.
"Is William bringing any friends with him to the party?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. She could feel her pulse beginning to race, and she did her best to appear unaffected by the news of her elder brother's return.
"Yes, the Luttrell boy," her mother replied, sounding slightly disapproving.
"Hardly a boy," her father pointed out. "William is one and twenty, so Luttrell must be of the same age."
"When you hear of some of his exploits, you will think him still a child," Lady Olston said, buttering her toast vigorously. "He is not a good influence on William."
"William is a bad influence on himself," Serena said defensively, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could restrain them.
Her mother's butter knife was dropped forcefully onto the table, nearly cracking one of the porcelain side plates.
"Your brother is a fine young man," Lady Olston said, maternal devotion, perhaps blurring her vision of her elder child slightly. "He would not get into such scrapes if he wasn't encouraged by bad company!"
Serena and her father exchanged a silent glance; William was well loved by all his family, but neither his father nor his younger sister were as blinded by affection as his mother. William hadn't needed any help in getting so foxed one night while at home that he decided to swim naked in the ornamental fountains outside Olston House, and several local landowners had been to see the earl to complain about William charging through nearby towns and villages in his curricle, driving at dangerous speeds and nearly mowing several people down.
"Luttrell is not so bad a young man," the earl offered. "I dare say he has pulled William out of more sticky situations than caused them. And I know his people – good sorts."
Lady Olston sniffed in disapproval.
"A third son," she pointed out. "And what are third sons to do with themselves, once they have finished drinking their way through university? Marriage to some heiress, if they're lucky. I hardly think that Mr. Luttrell is one for the church!"
Jonathan Luttrell was far too handsome to become a vicar, Serena thought dreamily as she stirred her tea. With his blond hair and cerulean blue eyes, he looked more like an angel. An angel on the verge of falling, she admitted to herself – those eyes sparkled with unholy mischief rather than noble piety. He had stayed at Olston House many times since becoming friends with William at Eton, and then rooming with him at Cambridge, and she had grown to know those eyes very well indeed. There was a sketchbook buried in a hatbox in her wardrobe devoted to drawing those eyes, and she rather thought she had them down perfectly.
How she longed to see them again!
"Well, if the newspaper is any judge, we shall be wanting as many men as possible to fight against Napoleon," the earl said, giving up the newspaper as a bad job. He needed spectacles, but refused to wear them. "Luttrell's an excellent rider and as good a shot; the army will be a good match for him."
"Just as long as he doesn't make William go with him," Lady Olston fretted. "I couldn't bear to think of William fighting, Gordon, I really couldn't."
"William won't be going," the earl said firmly. "He's the heir. He's needed here."
A silence fell over the room. William hadn't been the heir to his father's earldom until three years ago when Michael, the eldest Olston child and heir to the earldom, had died suddenly of a fever. Lady Olston pulled a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her dress, and dabbed her eyes with it. The earl leaned over and patted her hand gently, clearly uncomfortable with her signs of distress.
"So, William and Mr. Luttrell will be here for the party, Mama?" Serena asked, desperate to break the oppressive silence of the room. Michael's death still hung heavy over the house.
The Countess of Olston's Christmas party was the premiere yuletide event in the locality, held just before Christmas itself to allow guests to celebrate and then leave to attend the holy days with their own families. Well over a hundred people came every year, and the Olstons hired musicians so there could be dancing. Balls usually happened at the local assembly rooms, but only sporadically in the darkest months of the year. It would be three or four months until the Season started up in London again, so private balls like the one at Olston House were the only opportunity for young ladies like Serena, and her best friend Bessie, to meet eligible young men and show off their fine gowns and nimble feet.
Serena only had eyes for one eligible young man, however – The Honourable Jonathan Luttrell, third son of the Earl of Rutland. Tall, handsome, an excellent dancer; he was everything that she could want in a husband. Every time he came to stay at Olston House he had talked to her and flirted with her, although never beyond the bounds of propriety – well, until that time in London in the summer, anyway. He was kind to servants and good with his horses – what else did one need to know about one's future husband? It was a little troubling that he did not seem to have any prospects, being a third son, but he had told her once that his grandmother intended to leave him a small estate that was not entailed. Between her dowry, which was not inconsiderable, and the estate, she was sure that they could be happy together.
She was not building castles in the sky, she was sure. After all, the last time they had seen each other, at a London ball, they had shared a kiss, had they not? And a young man of good birth didn't go around kissing the eligible daughters of a peer without thinking of marriage, surely?
And yes, he hadn't written to her since that visit, she allowed, but as an unmarried young lady she would not have been permitted to enter into correspondence with a gentleman she was not engaged to. He would have known that, and that was why he had not written to her in the six months since she had last seen him, she was sure.
"Yes, both William and Mr. Luttrell will be here for the party. William has made mention of his guest staying with us for all of the Christmas s
eason," Lady Olston said heavily. "We will not be able to get rid of Mr. Luttrell until after the New Year, I think."
Lady Olston narrowed her eyes at her daughter.
"I don't want you wasting your time thinking about a third son," she told her firmly. "Several very eligible young men have been invited to the Christmas party. The Marquess of Hasting's heir will be attending, as will be Lord Rainham."
"Lord Rainham must be all of five and forty!" Serena spluttered. "And Viscount St. James has the worst breath in all of Kent!"
"They are both a good catch," her mother replied resolutely. "Think of Rainham. His lands border ours, and his fortune is fifteen thousand a year. You will not want for anything as Lady Rainham."
"Except love!" Serena said, throwing her napkin down. "Mother, how could I possibly fall in love with Lord Rainham? His belly sticks out over his shoes!"
"Enough!" Lady Olston said, rising from the table, forcing her husband to rise hurriedly too. "Nobody is saying that you have to fall in love with him at the party, Serena, but you must think carefully about your future. One Season in London and not a single proposal! A sensible marriage should be every young lady's goal in life. You would not want to end up a spinster, like your aunt Charlotte, would you?"
"I'm only nineteen!" Serena protested. "I don't have to worry about being a spinster yet!"
"Lord Rainham and Viscount St. James," warned her mother. "I don't want to see you stand up at the ball with anybody until you have danced with both of them first. Especially Mr. Luttrell."
"Fine!" Serena said, knowing that she sounded sulky. "But don't blame me if Viscount St. James' breath overpowers me and I swoon on the dance floor!"
"If you swoon, make sure he or Rainham catches you," her mother said dismissively. "Men do like to feel that they are being useful. Come, Gordon," she went on, addressing her husband. "I need you to oversee the decoration of the Great Hall. The gardeners are bringing in holly and mistletoe, and they will need you to select the Yule Log."
"Anything to be useful, my dear," the earl said dryly.
He caught his daughter's eye and winked at her. Serena could not help but smile. She did not think that her mother had made a 'sensible' marriage – the affection between her parents was visible for all to see. Was it so wrong to wish for a marriage like theirs, based on true feelings of love?
She abandoned her cold toast and left the breakfast room for the small parlour upstairs that looked out over the drive. It wasn't used very often, so she had to ring for a maid to build up a fire in the grate. Until it began to warm the room, she bundled herself in more shawls and sat with a book near the window to keep watch for her brother and Jonathan Luttrell.
She could not keep herself focused on the story, however. Her mind kept drifting back to that night in June, one of the last of the Season. There had been a masked fancy dress ball, and she had danced with any number of men whose identity she had not known – it was rather fun, even if her mother had kept a strict eye on her. She had known Jonathan as soon as she had spotted him across the room – it was hard for him to hide his height, or his shining blond hair. As soon as he came close to her, she was positive it was him. Very few people had eyes as blue as his, and they shone merrily behind the strip of black cloth that masked his face. He had been dressed as a pirate, she thought dreamily, with a flamboyant hat with a large feather and shockingly tight breeches. The over-large white shirt he had worn had been opened to reveal part of his chest, and he had carried a suspiciously authentic looking sword.
Lost in her thoughts of the night, six months ago, Serena stared out of the window.
***
"Permission to dance with the fair lady, your majesty?" the pirate had asked her mother, who had frowned at him for a while before eventually regally nodding her consent.
She was dressed as Queen Elizabeth, and was rather regretting the extravagant ruff that looked impressive, but restricted her ability to move her head. It was also a popular costume for ladies of a certain age, and there were many red-wigged Tudor queens moving awkwardly around the room with little to no peripheral vision.
Serena had put her hand in his and he had whisked her off to the dance floor to join the set currently starting a country dance. They took their place at the end of the line and followed the steps called by the lead lady, who began her procession down the line with her partner.
"Where are your sheep, shepherdess?" her pirate teased. "Did you lose them?"
Serena had not been allowed to pick her own costume, as some debutantes had. Her mother had chosen a very frilly shepherdess costume, complete with a crook ornamented with ribbons that she had abandoned as soon as she possibly could. Serena wasn't sure what a shepherdess did all day, but she was fairly sure she didn't do it in a dress with so many ruffles and bows. It couldn't be at all practical. She envied the girls who had come dressed as Cleopatra or one of the Muses – their gowns were far more exciting, and revealing than her rather childish costume.
"I let the sheep roam freely in the gardens," she told her pirate. "A ballroom is no place for them!"
"Indeed," her partner said, smiling, "But aren't you worried that some thief will come along and steal them? I have heard rumour that there is a dreadful pirate on the loose tonight!"
"If a pirate is that dreadful, then I need not fear him," Serena announced. "My sheep are safe enough, I think!"
He threw back his head and laughed at her rather weak joke, which was kind of him, she thought. Being so close to him made her struggle to think clearly. They were doing a country dance, which required a lot of fast skipping steps and holding of hands. Despite the warm room his hands were cool, not clammy as many of her previous partners had been. They were much larger than hers, and felt strong.
Was it possible to fall in love with a pair of hands?
Serena rather thought it might.
"Perhaps we should go and check on your sheep, shepherdess," he teased. "The gardens are big. They may have wandered away and gotten lost."
Serena blinked. Was he asking her to go into the gardens with him? Her mother would have a fit if she found out! Leaving the safety and the scrutiny of the public ballroom to enter the dark gardens without a chaperone was strictly forbidden for unmarried ladies. Serena cast a glance over her shoulder to her mother, who was gathered in a group with other women of a similar age, which included two other Elizabeths.
"I'm not sure Queen Elizabeth will approve of her shepherdess wandering off," she said weakly. She wanted to go with him – desperately – but she could hear her mother's voice in her head, warning her about young women who lose their reputations by dallying in dimly lit gardens.
"Ah, but she will never know," he coaxed. "Look up and down the row, sweetheart. How many shepherdesses can you see?"
Serena glanced up and down the line of enthusiastic dancers. There were at least six shepherdesses in the set, and three of them wore the same colour pink dress as she did. If they were quick, and did not dally, they could probably get away with a walk outside.
"We cannot be long," she said, in a rush. "I will be in such terrible trouble if…"
"Hush," he said kindly, "I will not let you get into trouble."
As soon as she had nodded her consent, he whisked her out of the set. Another couple moved up the line and took their place. Holding her firmly by the hand, he led her through the room and out through one of the open French windows onto the terrace. This area was lit, and several couples were standing there to gain some relief from the oppressive heat of the ballroom. A set of wide stone steps led down to the landscaped gardens, and they descended them quickly.
"I think your sheep are down here, shepherdess," he said, pointing to an avenue of tall lime trees. The path was unlit, and in the cool night air it looked like a perfect pathway to temptation.
Serena bit her lip, unsure of what to do, until her pirate leaned closer and whispered in her ear.
"No harm waits for you, my dear," he said, the warmth of his
breath ghosting over her skin and giving her the most delightful sensation all along her neck. "I promise."
Serena allowed herself to be led along the gravel path, but stopped after a few steps.
"I cannot," she said, breaking away from his hold. "No, truly, I cannot walk down this path in my dancing slippers," she said, pulling up her skirts to display the thin silk shoes she wore. "The gravel is cutting into my feet."
"Never let it be said that a pirate cannot also be a gentleman," her partner said, bowing low before scooping her off the ground and into his arms.
Serena flung her arms around his neck as she gasped in shock – she hadn't expected him to do that! He walked confidently into the dark of the garden with her securely in his strong arms.
"There," he said, after a few moments. They had reached a small patch of lawn that would not hurt her feet, and he put her down carefully. She knew that she had to remove her arms from around his neck, but she was very reluctant to do so. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her tightly, so that moving them became impossible.
"Oh no, shepherdess," he said softly. "I fear all your sheep have disappeared."
Serena swallowed past the lump in her throat.
"Have you stolen them, then, pirate?" she asked hesitantly, not quite sure what she was supposed to say now that she was in his arms.
"I'm more interested in stealing something of far greater value," he murmured, bending his face to hers.
If Serena had thought herself in love with Jonathan Luttrell before that night, she knew now that she had been wrong, that it had been nothing but a girlish fancy. Now that his lips had met hers and her body became alive to his touch, she knew for sure that her love – their love – was real.
No wonder young ladies were warned of the dangers of darkened gardens and roguish young men! Just the feeling of being enclosed in his arms was intoxicating enough, but when his hands moved from her waist to caress her bottom she lost the ability to think clearly. His lips were warm and soft, far softer than she thought a man's lips might be. His kiss was not chaste, although it had started gently. Once he had coaxed her to open her lips slightly, however, it became full of passion. Serena gave herself up to this bliss, convinced that she could never be happy again unless it was in his arms. She did not want the moment to end, and clung to him when he reluctantly broke the kiss.
A Captain For Christmas Page 2