The Earl's Christmas Consultant

by Bianca Blythe

  “No, that’s not possible.”

  “You mean, you desire to go to Cornwall?”

  Cornwall was far away. If she went there, he wouldn’t see each other again.

  His heart heavied. He was offering her a chance to do what she loved most in the world, yet she would rather be a companion to a woman she’d never even met before.

  The only logical reason for her action was that she didn’t want to be around him. Perhaps he’d been mistaken about everything. Perhaps she didn’t want to be here in his bed after all.

  “I’m sorry we spent the night together. I thought you desired it. But I understand you might feel, because of your position....”

  “No, no, no,” she said quickly. “You don’t understand.”

  He blinked.

  Not understanding at all was not the most flattering manner in which to describe his powers of perception.

  She touched his hand. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Something important.”

  “You can tell me,” he said gently.

  “I don’t like to speak of it,” she said, “and I haven’t told anyone else about this. As you know, I became a maid ever since my father died.” She looked straight ahead, willing herself not to remember certain things. “He wasn’t sick when he died and he didn’t have an accident. He was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Stabbed multiple times. There was blood.” She looked away.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Did they ever catch the man?”

  She turned toward him. “I saw it happen and I never told anyone.”

  “Flora.” Evidently he had it all wrong. “But I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m sure the magistrate would have been grateful for any information you had.”

  “Oh, they don’t even know he was killed,” Flora said. “They simply think he vanished. I’m sure the person who killed him had paid some people to put his body in the Thames.” She shrugged. “Perhaps he’s buried in the backyard for all I know. It’s not important. He’s dead.”

  “Oh.”

  It must have happened when Wolfe was fighting overseas, before he started Hades’ Lair, and before he became involved in London’s music community.

  He’d inquired once about him from someone. One of his friends had mentioned he’d been in London for a while and had returned to Europe.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “So you were a witness to a murder.”

  “And the person saw me,” Flora said, staring in front of her again. “That’s why I had to disappear. I couldn’t be found. Because if the person saw me again, they would want to make certain I remained silent.”

  “What a horrible thought,” he said.

  She gave a wobbly smile.

  “You’ve been so brave,” he continued.

  “One does what one has to do.”

  “So the reason you’re going to Cornwall is because of its remoteness.”

  “Yes. I’ll be a companion to an older widow. You know how difficult it is to go from London to Cornwall.”

  “Indeed.” It was a days-long journey. A week if one wanted any comfort. The roads were muddy and difficult to pass through, much like visiting Scotland itself.

  “Do you know why he was murdered?” Wolfe asked.

  Flora shook her head. “No, I don’t know. My father was a good and kind man.”

  “I know,” Wolfe said, and he squeezed her hand.

  She smiled softly at him, and his heart thundered. He couldn’t imagine that such a nice man had been killed.

  “Well, you know who did it, so I will take you back to London, contact the magistrate, and ensure that the person is behind bars and can never hurt you again.”

  Flora’s smile wobbled. “The man in question is very powerful, and I’m certain his word is more important than mine, especially since no body was ever found.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Right now your family members haven’t arrived yet. They won’t arrive until the day before Christmas, and—”

  “We have these days for ourselves,” Wolfe said.

  And he kissed her.

  Again. And again. And again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Flora had been sleeping in his room every single night. It would all end at Christmas, but now it seemed unfathomable for her not to join him.

  The door opened, and Wolfe opened his eyes. Sarah must be coming to light the fireplace. He glanced at Flora. All he wanted to do was to pull her closer to him and to cover her in dozens of kisses. He wanted to claim her lips again and again with his own.

  “Wolfe?”

  Maids generally did not address him by his first name. Maids generally did not address him with anything except “My Lord,” usually accompanied by a blush. This voice was strong, confident and definitely female.

  Isla?

  “You have company?” Isla asked.

  Flora stirred beside him, and Wolfe jumped from his bed.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I live here,” his sister said, assessing him. Her gaze remained fixed on the bed. “You seem to have acquired many blankets.”

  “It was quite cold in the night,” Wolfe said.

  Isla shuddered. “I know. I traveled here in it. I thought you would be grateful I didn’t wake you then.”

  “Er—yes.” Wolfe felt the back of his neck prickle, even though it was distinctly cold in the room.

  Isla had to leave.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” he said, forcing a smile on his face.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You all but begged me to come. Tell me about this Christmas ball.”

  “Ah, yes.” He smiled, contemplating all the merriment Flora had already brought on the manor and village.

  Isla narrowed her eyes. “You’re acting strangely.”

  “Christmas spirit, my dear,” he said nonchalantly.

  Her eyes remained narrow, and her gaze was on the bed. “You haven’t got anyone?”

  Wolfe tried to not look at Flora, relieved she hadn’t woken up. He adjusted the blanket, ascertaining neither her splendid luscious locks nor her sumptuous form were in view.

  Perhaps he did manage to avoid glancing at her, but something in his expression must have changed, for Isla’s eyes widened.

  “Who’s that?”

  “What?”

  “Th-that lump—” Isla pointed and Wolfe hurried from the bed and led Isla into the adjoining room.

  Flora was already stirring. He suspected she did not want to be met with his sister’s irritation. Heavens, he didn’t want it, and he’d had decades of practice.

  “Then it is a woman,” Isla said triumphantly.

  “N-nonsense,” Wolfe said, conscious he didn’t desire to damage Flora’s reputation.

  “Then why on earth are we standing here?”

  “Er—” Wolfe swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.

  “You lecture me about responsibility, and then you drag some poor woman off to this manor house—”

  “There was no dragging involved,” Wolfe said, outraged.

  “I hope you didn’t help yourself to the servants,” Isla said. “That’s the sort of thing only disreputable men do. Which obviously you are, though somehow I never took you for a man who—”

  Warmth invaded Wolfe’s cheeks. This was the sort of conversation one wasn’t supposed to have with one’s sister, no matter how cultured and well-traveled she was.

  The worst thing was...she was correct. Flora was a servant. It didn’t seem that way. She didn’t wear a uniform and her job differed from that of a maid. They’d even known each other as children. She’d even dined in the nursery with him and the other children of the manor house. It seemed strange to think of her as solely a servant.

  He hadn’t met a woman of the ton who could play so well, who was so intelligent. Flora had taken this position for her safety.

  And yet—

  Flora was hardly a woman of the
ton. He would never chance upon her at a ball, even with the most unfashionable wallflowers and bluestockings. No matchmaking mama or proud papa would ever thrust her in his direction. Flora’s own parents were dead, but even if they had been alive, their class would not have equaled that of earl, even if they were far more talented and kind than his own father had ever been.

  “You’re an impossible man,” Isla huffed. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Naturally not,” Wolfe said, and for a very brief moment hurt seemed to descend upon his sister’s face. It was only for a moment though, and then her features steeled and she was once again the impenetrable ice aristocrat.

  “DID YOU NEED TO HAVE somebody in your bed, Wolfe?” A woman’s voice sailed through the air, and Flora stiffened.

  She was not in her normal bed.

  She was in...the earl’s.

  Memories of last night and everything wonderful, everything precious, inundated her mind, and for a moment everything was perfect.

  She turned to the other side of the bed. Wolfe had been there throughout the night, giving a gentle snore entirely at odds with his roguish image, one that had made her smile. He’d emanated warmth, even after the brick in the bed had cooled.

  Now though he was absent.

  The bed might possess ample numbers of blankets, but they couldn’t disguise his muscular form.

  He was gone.

  Flora blinked and rubbed the sand from her eyes.

  She recognized the amaretto timber of his voice, but it was joined by an alto voice that she could not place. She listed the maids whom he might be speaking to, but none of them sounded so refined, and none of them tended to enter into long conversations with him.

  Another woman?

  Flora pushed away the flicker of jealousy. Wolfe was well-regarded with women. Even she knew that, and she’d been a maid in a different house.

  Besides, she could hardly have any claim to him. She’d entered into bed for no other reason than that she adored him, even though that was the same reason that had felled other women who’d adored other men.

  Perhaps there was another world in which her father had not been murdered, and in which she could have married the second son of an aristocrat and no one would have minded. But that had changed once she’d taken on the position of maid for the Butterworths, and the added responsibility of arranging Christmas for the earl did not change her low position.

  Flora wrapped the sheet around her, conscious of her state of undress. The sheets were too soft, the bed too luxurious, for her.

  No one could find her here.

  Wolfe wouldn’t want that, and she wanted Wolfe to be happy.

  Clothes.

  She needed clothes.

  She swung her gaze around the room, spotting her chemise, dress and stockings dangling in various corners, as if to emphasize the utter inappropriateness of last night.

  The adjoining door opened, and Lady Isla stepped inside.

  Flora wrapped the sheet around her quickly, conscious that the action was unlikely to mask her unclothed state completely. Her shoulders were bare, and her hair tousled in a manner utterly not in keeping with anyone with a modicum of decency.

  Lady Isla narrowed her eyes. The woman was splendid, despite the early hour. Her coiffure emanated exquisiteness.

  Lady Isla hesitated. “You seem familiar.”

  Flora bit her lip.

  There’d been a time when Isla had played with Flora. She’d been older and perhaps prone to bossiness. She’d overwhelmed Flora with a list of her dolls and their accompanying vast collection of clothes. And yet, they’d enjoyed themselves.

  “Is that—?” Lady Isla’s confident voice wobbled, and Flora’s chest tightened.

  “Greta,” Lady Isla said softly. She swung her gaze to Wolfe. “What is she doing here?”

  “You recognized her?” Wolfe’s voice croaked.

  “Naturally,” Lady Isla said. “Now can we please speak in private?”

  Wolfe shot an apologetic look to Flora, and Isla opened the door to the adjoining room.

  “I’m not alone,” Isla said.

  “Whom did you bring? Admiral Fitzroy and his wife?”

  “You needn’t appear so scandalized. They are very pleasant. No, I didn’t bring them. They are in Southern France. The Duke and Duchess of Vernon are here along with Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.”

  “Indeed?” Wolfe found himself giving a pleased smile.

  “And everyone will be scandalized of your treatment of the duchess’s former maid.”

  “I’m treating her well.”

  “I don’t think I need tell you they might think it in bad taste to discover you’ve been bedding the duchess’s former lady’s maid. Rather vulgar.”

  “There was nothing vulgar about it,” he said defiantly.

  Isla raised her eyebrows. “I hardly think you would like me to invite my groomsman up to spend the night with me.”

  “Naturally not. That’s—er—quite different. Quite different indeed.”

  Isla narrowed her eyes. “Is it?”

  The question rushed through his mind.

  “I heard our names,” a cheerful voice said, and the duke peered through the open door.

  “Callum!” Wolfe said, mustering enthusiasm. “How delightful to see you.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” the duke said merrily.

  HIS FRIENDS WERE HERE. Flora heard the voices. Christmas was truly beginning now.

  Even though it had always been her favorite time of year, it occurred to her she would not be able to spend more time alone with Wolfe. He would be busy hosting his friends, and he would not want to deign to admit he’d spent more time than was appropriate with her.

  She swallowed hard. She dressed hastily, wishing she’d worn a dress without quite so many buttons. She then smoothed her hair in the silver framed mirror in Wolfe’s room. Her heart beat, and she tried to create some semblance of respectability.

  No one could ever know.

  She opened the door a crack. She didn’t hear anyone in the hallway. They all seemed to be convened in the room beside. Finally, she swallowed hard and proceeded to march down the corridor.

  She made it only ten paces before she heard a voice.

  “Flora, my dear!”

  Normally Flora enjoyed her past mistress’s sister’s company, but now she halted suddenly, as if she’d been turned to stone.

  “I can’t believe it! It’s you!” Mrs. Montgomery continued. “Hamish! Look who I found in the corridor?”

  In the next moment Mr. Montgomery, the Duke of Vernon, and the Duchess of Vernon had surrounded her in the corridor. She watched as Lady Isla and finally Wolfe joined. She didn’t meet Wolfe’s eyes.

  Flora’s heart beat madly. She’d just exited the earl’s room. In the morning. Anyone would find it odd that she was upstairs.

  And they didn’t even know she was here. She averted her eyes as if she could in any way hide from Mrs. Montgomery. It was impossible.

  “I’m working here for the earl,” she said.

  “McIntyre, you need a lady’s maid?” The duke slapped Wolfe on the back, and Mr. Montgomery joined him in laughter.

  “The solution to having slightly long hair is to cut it off, not to hire a lady’s maid,” the duke continued.

  They seemed so happy. She looked at them but she saw no disapproval in their expressions. Only slight confusion.

  They don’t know. They don’t suspect.

  She’d just been leaving his quarters, but they always saw her as a servant. They didn’t see anything untoward about her appearance, only the fact that she was in Scotland at all.

  “I mean...” The duchess looked at her. “You said you were going far away, but I didn’t expect to find you precisely here. Otherwise you could have come with us, couldn’t you have?”

  “Naturally,” the duke said. “My wife already misses you as lady’s maid. Others are just not as good.”

  “I can certainly be
lieve that,” Wolfe said. “But she is not just a lady’s maid.”

  The others rolled their eyes.

  “Well, you do not require a lady’s maid,” Mr. Montgomery said.

  “Flora is our Christmas consultant,” Wolfe said.

  “There’s such a thing?” The duke narrowed his eyes.

  “There’s all manner of interesting and new positions,” the duke’s brother said, evidently eager to contradict his twin.

  “She is responsible that the festivities for the holiday season go well.”

  “Oh, that does sound most fascinating,” the duchess said kindly. “And you’re doing something quite apart from hair and mending.”

  The duchess’s sister gave her a curious look.

  “She is exceptional,” Wolfe said again, as if worried that the duchess might think her only suited to clothes.

  “How extraordinary. Not that I would doubt it,” the duchess’s sister said. “You always were a very sweet maid.”

  “It’s quite far to take her,” the duke mused.

  “It is a most important position. And I assure you, you will have a most delightful time here,” Wolfe declared, shifting the conversation away from her. “I am so happy you could attend. Perhaps we can go down to the breakfast room together. I’m famished.”

  “What a magnificent idea,” Lady Isla said. “We can leave your Christmas consultant in peace to continue her work.”

  The others followed her down the stairs.

  The duchess turned. “I’m really so excited to see you here. We must talk at some point.”

  “That would be lovely.” Flora smiled, but her heart ached.

  It didn’t matter. She had work to do. She tried to move briskly and she tried not to have her mind linger on Wolfe.

  Flora continued down the corridor, opened the door to the servant’s staircase and then descended down to the kitchen. She would eat something too.

  The housekeeper and maid looked at her with pity. They knew what had happened, and they knew now what her new state was.

  “I’m sorry, love,” Miss Potter said, giving her a drink. “You shouldn’t get too close to the master.”

  She raised her chin. “I’m quite well, Mrs. Hopkins. I have some work to do.”