Aunt Bella prodded her in the side between whoops of laughter.
‘Open yours, open yours!’ she chortled.
The moment Helen complied she saw the joke. Aunt Bella had made her a reticule and stuffed it to the brim with those self-same sweets.
They were both giggling like a pair of giddy school-girls when Lord Bridgemere came to the table.
He gazed coldly round at the occupants of the table, instantly sobering Helen and her aunt, then took his seat and flicked open his napkin. The butler hastened to his side and poured coffee, whilst everyone else, as though at some hidden signal, began to open the present that lay beside their plate.
Everyone had received something from Lord Bridgemere. Even her. And, while it had been impossible to accept any gift from him on any other day, it was not as though he was singling her out today. She reached for her parcel with trembling fingers.
Inside was a beautiful silk damask shawl. One side had a rose ground and the other gold, so that it could be worn either way to go with different outfits. She felt quite touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift, since one of the shawls she had brought with her had been ruined by a combination of her encounter with Esau in the garden, when it had been trampled into the mud, and Swaledale on the staircase, when his candle had singed it. But her pleasure in Lord Bridgemere’s gift dimmed somewhat when she looked up and saw that every other female at table was also in receipt of such a shawl. Just as the men had all received cufflinks along with their promissory note.
At that moment Lady Augustine gave a cry of delight as she unfolded the note which had fallen out of her shawl. Her mother, Lady Thrapston, swiftly quelled her outburst with a withering look, which reduced her to stammering her thanks to Lord Bridgemere with red cheeks. But it was too late. The damage was done. Several of the other guests were looking at her with envy, and when they also thanked Lord Bridgemere for whatever it was he had given them it was stiffly, as though they felt disgruntled.
Apart from Lord Norton, who looked downright relieved.
Then Aunt Bella, as if impervious to the atmosphere of jealousy and resentment that was brewing, beamed at Lord Bridgemere and said, ‘Are you not going to open your present now?’
Though conversation up to that point had been stilted, Aunt Bella’s comment had the effect of stifling it completely.
Lord Bridgemere looked down at his plate, registering surprise to see the small neatly wrapped packet that Helen had asked Mrs Dent to place there for him. Tentatively he pulled on one of the trailing ends to release the bow that held it all together, and frowned down at the pair of embroidered handkerchiefs within.
‘Is this from you?’ he asked her aunt.
‘Oh, no. From Helen,’ she informed him.
Lady Thrapston shot her a scandalised look. ‘It is not the done thing, Miss Forrest,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows that it is not the thing at all.’
‘Nevertheless,’ he said, as Helen’s face flamed with mortification, ‘I am touched by Miss Forrest’s gesture. She is the only one who thought to give me anything.’
Helen caught General Forrest glaring at her, his cheeks growing ruddy with suppressed fury. She guessed he was among those who had not received all he had hoped for, and by the look on his face, after the way Lord Bridgemere had publicly defended her for committing what was clearly a social faux pas, he was inclined to lay the blame on her.
‘You always say you have need of nothing!’ snapped Lady Thrapston.
‘You are correct, as always,’ he replied coldly, getting to his feet. ‘Miss Forrest? A word in private?’
Oh, yes. The interview. Head lowered, so that she did not have to see the way everyone must be staring at her, she left the table and made for the exit.
‘Please—come in and take a seat,’ he said, opening the door for her and ushering her into his study.
She walked carefully to the chair he had indicated beside his desk, since her knees were somewhat shaky, and sank onto it as gracefully as her emotional state permitted.
In the few moments it took for him to shut the door, walk round the desk and take his own seat, she drank him in.
She already had a treasure trove of precious memories she could examine in the years ahead. On long, dull evenings she would be able to look back upon their walk through the wintry woodland. Smile at the time his dog had almost knocked her down, scattering his female relatives with his exuberant greeting. Picture him sitting astride his horse, his hound at his side, watching the children sliding around the ice lake he had created just for them. And, best of all, that waltz. Those magical few moments when he had held her in his arms and the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
But this would be the last time she would have a few moments of privacy with him. And she wanted to be able to remember every single second of this, their last encounter, bittersweet though it must inevitably be.
His clothing was understated, as usual. Over the days she had been at Alvanley Hall she had come to see that it was his quiet, self-assured presence that made people take notice of him. He had no need to wear elaborate waistcoats or deck himself with jewels to draw attention to himself. He was confident in who he was and what he was. She had mistaken that very confidence at first for arrogance. Other people, she knew, saw that same demeanour and whispered that he was cold and insular.
But how could he be anything else when he was fulfilling all his duties, caring for the needs of all his dependants, whilst nursing a broken heart?
‘I wonder, Miss Forrest,’ he said, tossing the offending handkerchiefs onto his desk, ‘how you managed to find the time to embroider these for me. You always seemed so busy. If you were not running errands for your aunt, you were helping entertain other people’s children. And yet I know you must have stitched these since you came here. You copied the emblems from the heraldic glass in the library windows, did you not?’
‘Yes. But it did not take me as long as you might suppose.’ She’d had no idea that giving him such a trifling gift would cause such a stir. If she could downplay the time it had taken her to do the embroidery, perhaps he would not make so much of it! ‘Though the design looks complicated, it was actually quite simple to prick out the outline and fill it in with satin stitch. As for your initials—why, they are only done in chain stitch, after all, which is mere child’s play.’
‘I fail to see why you thought it was necessary to give me anything at all,’ he said angrily. ‘What was your motive? Were you trying to impress me? Is that it? I can assure you there was no need.’
He could not believe how angry it had made him to think that she felt free to give him a gift she had laboured over with her own hands but was always so reluctant to accept anything from him!
He was angry, too, at the knowledge that every time he touched these small squares of cloth he would see her, sitting in the library with the sun gilding her hair. Or trying out the skating pond he had fabricated for the children, shrieking with laughter as she careened across the ice. Then taking Junia kindly by the hand and reassuring her that there was nothing to fear when he knew she would have had more fun racing with the older boys.
Angry, most of all, at how easily she could touch him. Move him. Make him feel…things he had not felt, not wanted to feel, for years!
And, worse, though he had accused her of trying to impress him—which was what he knew such a gift would signify from any other woman—Miss Forrest saw no need to make the attempt.
He had grown cynical, he realised, over the years. To even think that Miss Forrest would act as so many others had done… Why, he only had to look at her open, honest face, see the affront flashing from her eyes… No, Miss Forrest had not been trying to ingratiate herself with him.
She never would.
By the looks of her, she was about to give him what for even for suggesting it!
Helen took a deep breath. ‘I was doing no such thing,’ she retorted, sick of everyone attributing the worst interpretation to her behaviour. �
��It is common courtesy to give one’s host a small gift! And it has always been the custom for my aunt and I to exchange presents upon Christmas Day. I gave her handkerchiefs I had embroidered, too. Just as you gave identical gifts to each of your female guests. Honestly,’ she huffed, ‘I had no notion that extending that custom to you would cause anyone offence!’
He leaned back in his chair, half closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Being on the receiving end of one of Miss Forrest’s tirades was refreshing. Almost like coming upon a hidden spring whilst taking a ride on a hot summer day, and feeling all the dust being washed away by even the briefest of dips into it.
Helen shifted uncomfortably in her chair. He had been regarding her steadily for such a long time that she felt like some kind of exhibit in a museum. She had never been able to understand his abrupt changes of mood. But at least now that Lady Thrapston’s revelation had made her face the fact that she had fallen in love with him she knew why it did not make her like him any less. On the contrary, seeing he was in a bad mood just made her wish she could do something to cheer him up. To wipe away that disgruntled expression and see him smile again.
Which was, of course, quite impossible. He did not need her. He did not need anyone. Had he not just said so?
‘Are you having some difficulty,’ he asked eventually, with a wry smile, ‘in making your request known to me now that it comes to the point?’
Oh, yes! Of course! She had almost forgotten the whole point of coming in here. Seeing his mouth hitch at one side into that little smile had put everything right out of her head.
So now she felt like an idiot on top of everything else.
What had he said? Was she finding this difficult? ‘Oh, yes.’ Because this was it. The beginning of the end.
The end? She mocked herself. Nothing had really started except in her own fevered imagination!
‘What I wish to ask for might sound a bit presumptuous,’ she began nervously. ‘After all, I know I have no claim on your generosity…’
‘It never stops anyone else,’ he said bitterly.
She got to her feet. The last thing she wanted was for him to regard her in the same light as he did the rest of his troublesome guests, who only came to Alvanley because they wanted something. The only thing she wanted from him was his heart. Though, since it was impossible for him to give her that, she could at least command his respect.
‘It does not matter, then. If you are so averse to helping me I shall see to it myself.’
‘Sit down!’ he barked. ‘If you have something you want, just ask me, dammit!’ Whatever she wanted, if it made her less hostile towards him, he would give it, he realised. Could you buy someone’s regard?
Not Miss Forrest’s. No, she would toss her hair and, eyes flashing, inform him that she was not to be bought…
But at least she was subsiding onto her chair, twisting her fingers together nervously on her lap. Nervously? Then whatever she wanted to ask him must not be the trivial thing he had assumed was all she would ever bring herself to request of him. He sat forward, every sense on the alert.
Helen had never imagined it would be this hard to ask for his help. She was, she discovered, every bit as proud and prickly as her aunt. Though at least half the trouble was that she simply did not really want to leave.
This experience would be good for her, she decided, lips firming with determination. She would be always having to ask employers for time off, or permission to do one thing or another. Asking him for the loan of one of his carriages would humble her in a way that would make later slights and slurs seem like nothing.
‘It was my aunt’s idea,’ she began. ‘She said you would not begrudge me the use of one of your carriages. She seemed to think you would have me taken the entire way, but if you could just arrange for me to reach the nearest staging post I have enough money for my ticket. Or if not it really does not matter. I can quite easily walk. Only there are my trunks…’ she mused with a frown.
‘What the blazes are you talking about? Take the stage? When?’
‘Tomorrow. I—’
‘Out of the question!’ He slapped his hand palm down on the tabletop. She could not leave! He had known, of course, that once this house party broke up she would be going to work for a family somewhere—but that was at least a week away!
‘You have promised to help the children prepare for their nativity play,’ he said, a sense of desperation making him grasp at the first excuse he could come up with that was sure to touch her. ‘You cannot break your word to a child!’
‘I have no choice. My employers have sent a letter demanding I go to them at once.’
‘Nonsense! You are staying here as my guest. Nobody leaves until Twelfth Night!’ His heart was pounding. He felt slightly sick. Unless he could stop her somehow, tomorrow she would walk out of his life and…
He would never see her again. It was one thing spending time with a guest under his roof. Quite impossible for an earl to go seeking out a lowly employee of some family he did not even know and begging for an hour or two in her company!
If he let her leave tomorrow she would be lost to him.
‘Do you dislike it here that much?’
He knew his relatives were insufferable, but she had always seemed so cheerful in spite of it all. Nothing seemed to get her down for long. Yet now she was talking about leaving. As soon as she possibly could.
‘Have you not enjoyed your stay here?’
He felt as though someone had punched him. Perhaps it was him, specifically, she wished to get away from? She had slapped him once. And last night he had brought down upon her the censure of the entire assembly by singling her out as the only female he’d danced with all evening. Had he pushed her too far? It had been selfish of him, he knew. But she had looked so enchanting, sitting there tapping her foot in time to the music. He had been sure she wanted to dance. And none of the others would have asked her! Besides, he had wanted the excuse to hold her in his arms without having to wait until she was in floods of tears again.
‘It is not that,’ she sighed. ‘I was supposed to start working for the Harcourts on the fifteenth of December. They let me have a few days’ grace when I explained about my aunt and how I needed to see her settled. They said I could have until the New Year, but now that I know you will be looking after my aunt there is no reason for me to delay even that long. Especially not now they have written to say they cannot do without me any longer.’
‘Well, nor can I, dammit!’
‘What?’
Helen gazed at him in shock, doubting she could have heard him aright. By the look on his face, he could hardly believe what he had said, either.
He clenched his hands into fists on the desktop.
‘You heard me. I said I don’t want you to leave. Miss Forrest, the only thing that is making this house party bearable this year is the thought of running into you as I go about my daily business. Playing with the children. Busily sewing away in my library. Or putting my blasted sister to the rightabout!’
He dragged in a deep breath and got to his feet, pacing away from her to the hearth, then whirling round. ‘I know we do not always speak. But that is just it. We do not have to. Everything you think is written on your face.’
He loved watching her. Not just because she was pretty—although she was, exceptionally so. It was because more often than not she was like a visual echo of what he was already thinking. And it soothed him.
‘I know exactly what you think of General Forrest’s boorish manners,’ he continued, ‘and his incredible insensitivity to his sister. I know what an overbearing snob you think my sister. I see you wondering how on earth I can stand to have such a complete and utter tick as Nicholas Swaledale as my heir, and for the first time in my life I feel…’ He turned and took a few paces, before saying, ‘I feel as though I have an ally in the midst of an enemy camp.’
And if she left he would be utterly alone.
‘And now you say you intend t
o desert me! Well, I won’t have it—do you hear?’ He marched up to her and stood, hands on hips, glaring down at her. ‘I forbid you to leave!’
‘You have no right,’ she said, tears springing to her eyes.
For one moment he had seemed so agitated at the thought of her leaving that she had almost started to hope he might be going to tell her that he had feelings for her. And then he’d ruined it all by saying he forbade her to go! Giving her a direct order as though she was a member of his staff!
Which was how, she reflected bitterly, he had always thought of her. A useful person to have about, but nowhere near his equal!
She got to her feet, quivering with indignation. ‘No right to forbid me from doing anything I want, sir! Just as I have no right to refuse my employer’s summons. They have already been more than lenient with me…’
‘I will write to them for you, then.’ He grabbed her upper arms. ‘Tell them I cannot spare you. That they must do without you until the celebrations here are at an end.’
She felt a clutch of panic. ‘Oh, please do not do that! I will lose my job, and then what would become of me?’
‘Does your job mean so much to you?’
‘Of course it does! If I lose this post I must seek another, and it was difficult enough to secure this one…’
Of course. She had no money. And it was unfair of him to ask her to jeopardise her whole future without some concomitant sacrifice from him.
He slid his hands down her arms until they were loosely clasping hers. He looked down at them, head bowed. The only person who would have the right to help Helen whether she wanted him to or not would be her husband. He had never thought he would put his head in that particular noose again…but had he not already told her that he thought she would make some man a comfortable sort of wife?
He looked into her eyes, which were troubled, almost afraid, and felt a rush of resolution surge up within him.
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