Left to his thoughts, Jordan considered his own situation with a measure of dismay. He would be bored inside a day at this house party.
But what choice had he? Deuce take it. His conscience would not allow him to stand by and watch Harry run himself into the ground.
If Harry proved an embarrassment in Town, Thorpe would never give his son Elm Grove, even though it was one of his lesser properties. And Harry dearly loved the place, having spent summers there all his life. Jordan reflected that, given time, Harry would be content to manage the estate and go to Town only during the Season, as did most of the ton.
Yes, Jordan would see that Harry was put in the way of things before he was set loose on the Town again. Damn Thorpe for not doing it himself. Now Jordan was forced into the position of leader and instructor, when all he wanted to do was lead himself to his mistress, Ruby, and instruct her on how best to please him!
Even the presence of Lily Carruthers would only enliven his boredom to a certain degree. It would all be so predictable. He would pursue the widow and she would make coy, halfhearted attempts to elude him. This game would culminate in her dropping hints as to her price. Being a gentleman, he would not haggle. She would fall into his arms like a leaf from a tree in autumn.
The viscount yawned.
He could not foresee Lily even attempting to lure him into matrimony as Arthur had warned back in Town.
Jordan turned his head and gazed out at the countryside. What would Lily and his friends think if they knew he had made an offer of matrimony just a few days ago... and that he had been flatly refused?
He smiled, remembering the furious reaction with which his offer had been met. How her large gray eyes had turned stormy! His mystery lady. And she had remained just that, a mystery.
Though he had risen early the next morning, she had already gone. The innkeeper had scratched his head when Jordan had casually inquired as to her identity. Mr. Wilkins could not remember what name the female had given.
No matter, Jordan thought. It was not likely he would ever see her again.
For some reason this conclusion brought a frown to his handsome features. He continued gazing out the coach window, taking in the snow-covered scene.
Presently, when they turned a bend in the road, a small village lay before them. Near the road was a frozen pond where an old woman, wrapped in layers of dingy shawls, was using a shovel to break through the ice. Next to her was a burlap sack.
The sack lurched violently, swayed, and rolled. The occupants of the bag were struggling wildly to be freed, but their efforts were fruitless as the woman had knotted the sack tight.
Kittens, thought the viscount. She is going to drown a litter of kittens. Despite the fact that this action was not uncommon in the country, he felt a tug at his heart.
The woman succeeded in breaking through the ice. Jordan abruptly turned away from the window.
Like the female at the inn, the matter was of no concern to him.
Or so he told himself.
* * * *
Upon their arrival at Altham House, Griswold and Lady Altham’s footmen took the gentlemen’s trunks down from the coach, and Jordan and Lord Harry started up the steps to the house. Griswold drove around to the stables to see to the horses.
The door to the great house stood open. Jordan walked up the steps, carrying a newly acquired bundle. A scene of chaos greeted them. With Lord Harry right behind, Jordan paused in the doorway to take in the sight.
Trunks were scattered willy-nilly about the large tiled hall. Apparently another party of guests had just arrived. A cadaverous man stood in the center, issuing orders in furious undertones to the scrambling footmen. A large group of people all seemed to be talking at once.
A lady of about thirty years, with bouncing brown curls and merry eyes, was trying to answer two chattering little girls, each wearing a pink velvet pelisse. Two men stood nearby, clapping each other on the back and shaking hands. A bookish-looking boy of about twelve appeared to be enduring a lecture given by a severe matron in her mid-thirties.
The most unusual creature of the bunch, a lady in her late fifties but dressed in the style of a much younger woman, noticed them first.
“Lud, you must be Viscount Reckford! Come in, come in. Oh, you’ve brought a friend. How delightful,” Lady Altham said, using her quizzing glass to survey both gentlemen with a lascivious grin.
Jordan bowed. “Lady Altham, I thank you for your kind invitation. May I present my young friend, Lord Harringham?”
Lord Harry reached for her ladyship’s hand and placed a kiss a few inches above it. “I hope you do not mind an extra guest, Lady Altham. And please call me Harry. All my friends do.”
His words and boyish smile brought a bright gleam to Lady Altham’s eyes. “What a young scamp! Of course you are welcome.”
Her ladyship’s gaze fell on the squirming burlap sack Jordan carried. “What the devil is that?”
“Mother! Such language.” A scandalized voice came from the crowd and was ignored.
Jordan untied the knot of the sack. The opening yawned wide enough for Lady Altham to peer inside and see five sets of eyes staring back at her. “Kittens!”
The two little girls in the pink velvet pelisses rushed forward. “Kittens!” they echoed in unison, and peeked in the bag. A faint meow sounded from the depths of the sack.
“Oh, he is talking to me,” one girl said, her brown curls dancing.
“Do not be silly, Venetia,” her sister said. Pursing her lips in concentration, the little girl bravely reached her hand into the sack to pat the kittens. Her brown eyes grew huge. “They are so soft!”
“Move out of the way, Vivian, and let me feel them,” Venetia demanded.
The lady with the bouncing curls and merry brown eyes stepped forward. “Girls, we have not even been properly introduced to this gentleman.”
Jordan smiled at her. “I am—”
“Jordan? Is that you?” interrupted an attractive gentleman of average height.
“Keith? Well met! I have not laid eyes upon you this age.” Jordan extended his right hand and heartily shook the hand of his old school friend, Baron Lindsay.
“Allow me to introduce my family, Jordan. This lady is my wife, Blythe. She is Lady Altham’s daughter. And these two young beauties are my girls, Vivian and Venetia. Son!” Lord Lindsay called, and the bookish boy of twelve came forward, adjusting his spectacles. “Let me present you to Lord Reckford. Jordan, this is my heir, Thomas.”
The two little girls gave their best curtsies, Thomas bowed, and Blythe, Lady Lindsay, smiled charmingly at Jordan.
Lord Harry was introduced, and then another round of introductions was made as Lady Altham’s other daughter, Prudence, and her husband, Mr. Humbert Norwood, were made known to them.
Jordan thought Mrs. Norwood must have been the one remonstrating with her mother for her language. She was a pinch-faced matron, obviously older than her sister Blythe. Their temperaments seemed as different as their appearances.
While Lady Lindsay greeted Jordan with open friendliness, Mrs. Norwood appeared full of her own consequence and merely nodded. Mr. Norwood was a frightened-looking man with red hair.
“But the kittens!” Venetia cried. “What about the kittens?”
Even as she spoke, one of the kittens, black with white paws and a white chest, climbed steadily up the sack and poked his head out of the top. He gave a pitiful meow.
“Can they come out, Grandmama?” Vivian asked prettily.
Mrs. Norwood answered her nieces before Lady Altham could reply. “Certainly not. Dirty, filthy creatures. Probably covered with vermin. They belong in the stable.”
Jordan eyed Mrs. Norwood with distaste. “I did purchase them from a peasant woman, Lady Altham, and cannot vouch for their credentials. I am certain they would not be admitted to the feline equivalent of Almack’s,” he drawled.
In the next moment, however, it seemed they would have no choice in the matter. All f
ive kittens, seeing the light and following their leader, scrambled up the sides of the sack.
The first one out used Jordan’s hand for leverage. The viscount clenched his teeth in pain as needle-sharp kitten claws dug into the back of his hand. The sack slipped from his grasp, and the kittens sprang to the floor.
Venetia, Vivian, and Thomas immediately fell to playing with them, laughing and squealing with delight.
Lord Harry chuckled and bent to pat the nearest kitten’s head. “We have cats around Oxford. They’re handsome creatures, and intelligent as well.”
Thomas gazed up in awe at Lord Harry. “You attend Oxford, sir?”
“Yes, it’s my last year,” Lord Harry replied. “I’m having a good long respite for the holidays right now.”
Thomas’s eyes grew round, and he swallowed hard, mustering the courage to speak to such an exalted person. “I should like to hear about what you are studying, my lord, if it would not be too much of an inconvenience. You must miss your books.”
A look of astonishment quickly crossed Lord Harry’s features. “Yes, of course I miss my studies.” He ignored Jordan’s low chuckle. “I shall be happy to discuss them with you, Thomas.”
Jordan saw Thomas’s face brighten with anticipation before the boy reached out to grasp one of the kittens close. Good, he thought. Mayhaps Thomas would teach Harry a thing or two about the value of books and knowledge.
Blythe, Lady Lindsay, looked upon her children fondly. “Well, Mama,” she said to Lady Altham, “do you suppose the kittens could be bathed and kept in the nursery? Would that be all right with you, Lord Reckford? Or do you have other plans for them?”
“I am sure the little fellows would be happiest with the children,” Jordan answered. “If their nurse has no objection.”
That female, standing apart from the group, blushed furiously at the sudden attention and declared that she loved animals.
Blythe raised an inquiring brow at her mother.
Lady Altham opened her mouth to reply when her gaze was caught by a flash of white at the top of the stairs. Frozen in shock, Fluffy stood watching the scene below—kittens romping, children laughing—with a look of horror on her pushed-in face.
Mr. Lemon saw Fluffy as well. Possibly remembering all the scratches he had endured at Fluffy’s paw, he moved to stand near Lady Altham. “I am certain, my lady, that the kittens could be washed and sent up to the nursery with no trouble at all. In fact, if I may be so bold, I am sure that with supervision they could be managed in the drawing room as well.” He shot a triumphant look up at Fluffy’s stricken face.
Fluffy’s plumed tail twitched indignantly as the cat turned and moved in the direction of the drawing room to claim her domain.
At that moment, Miss Bessamy appeared in the hall and took in the situation. She heard Mr. Lemon’s comment and was surprised at his generosity. “I shall be happy to give them a wash, Lady Altham. As you may recall, Lady Margery kept a cat for many years, and I am familiar with feline habits.”
“Please, Grandmama!” chorused Venetia and Vivian.
Outnumbered, Lady Altham capitulated, her nod of assent bringing cheers from the children.
The crowd in the hall began to disperse. Jordan and Lord Harry were conveyed to separate chambers by Mr. Lemon.
Hours later, after settling in, changing his clothes for dinner, and ascertaining that Griswold had everything he required, Jordan rang for a footman to convey him to Lord Harry’s room.
At the door to Lord Harry’s chamber, Jordan dismissed the servant and knocked. Receiving no response, he decided the younger man must have preceded him downstairs,
He stood for a moment, adjusting the sleeve of his dark blue evening coat. Damask white satin breeches and a white figured waistcoat set off the richness of the coat.
He cursed his lack of forethought in dismissing the footman. Altham House was large, and he had no way of knowing how to reach the drawing room. With a sigh, he set off in what he hoped was the right direction.
Rounding a corner, he realized the hallway in front of him led to more bedchambers. He was about to turn back when one of the doors swung open.
A petite lady with an alluring figure appeared in front of him. Her dress of dark green satin shimmered around her, and her slender arms were encased in long white gloves. The soft light of the hallway glowed on her silky black hair, which was pulled to the crown of her head in a feminine style.
Jordan felt a flash of recognition at the same time the lady’s beguiling gray eyes widened in shock.
“You!” she gasped. “How dare you follow me here?”
* * *
Chapter 4
“I almost did not recognize you with your clothes on,” Jordan said. “I recall that the last time we met, you wore a rather ugly nightgown.” He had the satisfaction of seeing a blush rise to her cheeks.
“H-how could you?” she stammered, outrage making her voice quiver. Jordan appreciated the low, square-cut neck of her gown, which revealed the enchanting swell of her bosom. So unlike the flannel that had bedecked her at their meeting at the Two Keys Inn.
“How could I what, Miss Whatever-your-name-is?”
She threw her head back and glared up at him. “You foolish man! How can you hope to get away with following me here? This is the home of an earl’s widow. You will be thrown out without ceremony.”
“No, surely not without ceremony,” he said in mock horror, amused at her perception of why he was at Altham House. “I have always found the rituals surrounding a throwing-out to be quite entertaining. And as a viscount, I believe I am entitled to a bit of ceremony.”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “Do you suffer from a mental infirmity? You show an alarming lack of sense.”
“Perhaps your beauty has made me senseless,” Jordan murmured, his voice smooth and taunting.
She dismissed this flirtatious sally. “Do not be absurd. Whatever can you hope to achieve by this mad start? I told you I would not marry you. Why did you follow me?”
Jordan felt a twinge of conscience at these words. Despite his doubts at the inn, it appeared she was a lady of breeding after all. Thus, his behavior toward her had been inappropriate at best. But then he had offered her his name, and she had refused. His sense of honor was satisfied. Which was fortunate, since he planned never to marry again, of course.
He swept her a bow. “Yes, you did deny me, condemning me to a life of desolation.”
Her scornful look did nothing to detract from the intriguing angles of her face. Jordan thought her countenance too slim for the plump cheeks currently in fashion. Nevertheless, her face was one a gentleman might gaze upon for a length of time and not grow bored.
Just now, her features were frozen in hauteur. “Do you think me the kind of creature who would give myself in marriage merely to rescue my reputation?”
“Why, I do not profess to know anything about you, my mystery lady.” He paused, tilting his head to one side in the manner of one giving a subject great consideration. “Well, I suppose that cannot be considered strictly accurate.”
She tensed, and he could see her annoyance in the way her white teeth caught at her lower lip. He smiled into gray eyes. “I know you possess a pair of soft, kissable lips and a passionate nature.”
In a neat move, she whisked herself around him and began walking down the hall, her pace brisk.
Jordan remained where he was but called after her: “Shall we try for introductions, my mystery lady? I am Viscount Reckford, your most obedient servant. You will not betray my presence, will you?”
Her unladylike snort of disgust as she moved away caused him to laugh out loud.
Still chuckling to himself, Jordan thought Lady Altham’s Christmas house party had just taken a decided turn for the better.
* * * *
Annoyed to find herself trembling after the confrontation upstairs with Lord Reckford, Margery took a deep breath before entering the drawing room. Standing in the doorway, she observed
several people milling about and conversing. Prudence Norwood, whom Margery had met that afternoon and had instantly taken an uncommon dislike to, looked her dark green dress up and down and curled her lip.
Margery recalled that her first intention was to find Lady Altham and inform the mistress of the house that she had an intruder.
How she would explain the circumstances of her previous meeting with his lordship at the inn was a matter Margery did not want to contemplate. What if Lady Altham demanded she marry his lordship for the sake of the proprieties?
Her gaze finally trained on Lady Altham seated in a corner of the room. At the sight of her ladyship’s appearance, Margery’s eyes widened but her mind eased. A mature woman who dressed as Lady Altham did would not be overly concerned with the conventions.
As part of her evening toilette, her ladyship’s face, neck, bosom, shoulders, and upper arms had been generously covered with white lead paint. A spot of pink rouge stood out on each cheek. Her light blue gown had a scandalously plunging neck, and was another gown better suited to a much younger woman, decorated as it was with several flounces and numerous ribbons. A tall plume, dyed blue to match the gown, rose above brassy curls.
She sat next to a very attractive gentleman with silver hair, who was tastefully dressed in the first stare of fashion. Lady Altham giggled and flirted with him outrageously.
Fluffy slept nearby on a throne consisting of a deep red velvet pillow with gold tassels that had been placed on a gilt chair.
Margery squared her shoulders and approached the older couple. She did not want to interrupt but could see no alternative. “My lady, pray excuse me, but I must speak with you on a matter of importance.”
Lady Altham did not look at all pleased at the intrusion. Fluffy opened her orange eye, perceived Margery, and promptly went back to sleep.
The gentleman seated next to Lady Altham rose and bowed. Everything about him bespoke a long-practiced grace. “Augusta, you did not tell me you were hiding such a Diamond of the First Water at your house party.”
How the Rogue Stole Christmas Page 5