“So I get the feline and a foreigner for a month, in addition to your nieces? Does no one ask permission to invade a man’s home? Botheration, what is next, a dancing bear knocking on my door?”
Margaret ignored his sarcasm. “The children meant well.” And she meant to send the brats to Hades! Their mother had been a conniver, too, Margaret recalled, too late.
“They meant well for me or for the prince? By the way, what does My-lo hunt? Just so I know, of course. Servants, elephants, small children?”
“Birds, the children thought. So he should be safe in the park. On a leash.”
“I am supposed to take a member of some royal menagerie to the park?”
“That was what the girls were hoping, yes.” Before the viscount could comment on that harebrained notion, she quickly added, “Which is not so terrible an idea. If you are seen with the cat, people will suppose My-lo scratched you, not some…” She paused. “That is, you will not have to stay inside until the wounds heal.”
Now that was indeed a brilliant idea.
* * *
They all went to the park as soon as the rain ended. Wolf did not choose the fenced-in area across the street, either, but Hyde Park, where the ton went to see and be seen, even with most of polite Society away at country homes. Wolf held My-lo close on the leash, to protect the park’s pigeons, while Alexandra and Katherine walked slightly behind, holding their aunt’s hands. Wolf raised his hat and bowed to several matrons, and introduced an old friend of his mother’s to his party.
“My neighbor, Lady Bartlett’s companion,” he said, without revealing that Margaret no longer resided under her employer’s roof. “Miss Margaret Todd and her nieces, and their royal but unreliable friend, My-lo.” He touched his cheek, sending his tale out to the gossip mills for grinding.
Next met on the path—which was quickly emptied of squirrels, lapdogs and toddlers on leading strings—was Lord Salter, who fancied himself a wit. The man rudely inspected Wolf and his companions through his quizzing glass, then drawled, “My, what a charmingly domestic scene.”
Wolf again touched the healing wounds on his face, then nodded toward the cat. With at least two or three meanings to his words, he said, “Still untamed, old chap. Still untamed.” He led Miss Todd and the girls in another direction, away from speculation, delighted with the success of his mission and his miniature Machiavellis.
He was so pleased, in fact, and feeling such a newfound freedom from his exile, from his embarrassment, that he invited them all—except the cat and its Hindustani handler—to Gunter’s for ices.
The children were delighted. They were also well behaved and adorable, Wolf thought, in their sweet giggles and new red capes. They should always be laughing, and they should have fur linings, he idly considered while they debated between raspberry and strawberry confections. The English climate would be far cooler than they were accustomed to. He would ask Mrs. Olive to see about it, as a Christmas gift.
Miss Todd ought to have fur, too, and jewels, he decided, although her pert little nose was shining brightly from the cold. Her wavy brown hair was tucked under a plain, limp bonnet, and her severe gray gown was worn at the cuffs. No matter. Wolf recalled her long flowing tresses and her appealing curves from watching her in the mornings exercising the pug next door. He imagined her in silks and satins, then out of them. His smile was not for the pastry on his plate, although that was one of his favorites.
The smile faded. Of course he could not buy the woman a new wardrobe, or an emerald brooch to go with her eyes. His warm thoughts were due to the hot tea, that was all, and his recent celibacy. Miss Margaret Todd was not mistress material. She was a gentlewoman, in respectable service, devoted to her new family. In fact, she was so good with the little girls, she ought to have babies at her breast, a loving husband at her side and a home of her own to bedeck for Christmas.
Those thoughts would not do, either.
Now that he could, Wolf decided to go to his clubs. Distance would remove the proper Miss Todd from his mind, and from his improper desires.
*
The little girls needed a new plan. Their last one had succeeded too well. How was Lord Wolfram going to fall in love with Aunt Maggie if he was never home? He was halfway smitten, they knew, because he looked at her whenever he could, but walks in the park with a cat on a leash were not going to bring the two closer. As for their aunt, she blushed whenever his lordship was near or his name was mentioned. She took to putting a sprig of holly in her hair, a dab of perfume at her wrists, a tuck in the neckline of her gown, and herself in the hallway when Lord Wolfram was heard stirring. Still, she insisted that their matchmaking was absurd and must cease henceforth. A viscount marrying a lady’s companion? When pigs flew!
If an English peer could parade a Punjabi cat through the park, anything was possible. Alexandra and Katherine consulted the courtship guide. Then they picked a bouquet.
Chapter Four
Flowers are always a suitable gift when a gentleman goes courting. Who does not like a bouquet, except those who sneeze at roses? Be it a small posy of violets or an armful of exotic blooms, flowers bring the hint of spring, the glory of nature, and yes, a reminder of the temporality of every living thing, so do not delay in your wooing. However, if you are contemplating the more fragrant blossoms because the object of your affections is less than fastidious in her personal hygiene, perhaps reconsider your haste, and your choice.
—George E. Phelber, A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship
Ah, the glee in the nursery. Their new plan was working. Lord Wolfram had asked Aunt Maggie to have dinner with him that night.
Ah, the primping in Miss Todd’s bedchamber. Mrs. Olive, Dora and the two girls all wanted to make Margaret into something she was not: a fashionable lady, the sort his lordship escorted to balls, to be mentioned in the on dits columns come morning.
Margaret had to laugh at her helpers. Her prettiest evening gown, a peach-colored velvet, was years out of style. Her thick wavy hair could only be arranged in staid plaited coils on top of her head or at the back of her neck, unless she was going to cut it, which she had no intention of doing. She had nothing but pearls for adornment, and her gloves had been darned. She was never going to be a diamond, only a slightly polished pebble.
This was merely a courtesy invitation from her host, anyway, Margaret told the others, and reminded herself. He was most likely tired of eating alone. Still, she did pinch color into her cheeks and she did tug her neckline a tiny bit lower.
She was glad she had, for his lordship was magnificent in evening dress. The dark blue of his coat made his blue eyes that much brighter, and the perfect fit made his shoulders that much broader. His neckcloth was a masterpiece; his valet had returned. Wolf was altogether a work of art—and Margaret tried to frame the image in her mind, for viewing after New Year’s when she would never see him again.
Ah, the effort it cost Wolf not to stroke the velvet, taste the peach, uncoil the topknot of her hair so it flowed over her shoulders and down her back, through his fingers that ached to touch. She looked lovely gliding into his parlor, as if she belonged there, belonged to him.
She did not. This was no seduction, nor even a social event. This was a farewell, Wolf reminded himself, unless Miss Todd had a convincing argument. He simply could not have his life turned upside down by a paid companion and her kin. He would pay for their lodgings at a respectable hotel if he had to, but they would be gone by morning, along with the cat who had attacked Dora and her feather duster.
Wolf led his problem—his guest—into the dining room and seated her at his side.
“Your aunt does not join us?” Margaret asked, noting the two places at the long mahogany table. She started to rise, to leave. Dining a deux felt more improper than staying in his house, away in the nursery with the children. Lord Wolfram had to know how such intimacy appeared. He was a womanizer, but Margaret had not suspected him of such warm familiarity toward a respectable woman l
iving under his roof. He could not be harboring evil intentions! He would not!
He did not. He did grasp her hand to pull her back to her chair.
“Stay. I wish to speak with you. My aunt usually has her meals on a tray in her bedchamber. I believe the stairs affect her joints. I could have requested her presence, but this is a personal matter.”
Margaret could think of only one topic that needed such privacy. Her spirits sank while Phillip filled her wineglass. If Lord Wolfram was going to proposition her, offer his protection in return for her favors, she would have to leave. Not even for the children’s sake could she remain in a house where she was considered no better than she had to be.
She had thought better of Wolf. Margaret raised her spoon, but did not even taste the soup Phillip served. Fear, doubt and sorrow stole her appetite.
His question, when Phillip left, stole her wits. “Are you acquainted with Colonel Brookstone?”
Confused but relieved, Margaret swallowed a spoonful of soup. “I never heard of the man.”
“He is a recently retired army officer, just back from India.”
“India? Recently?” Margaret had another mouthful.
“On the Belizar.”
She set her spoon down, her stomach suddenly rebelling at the taste and the trend of the conversation. Perhaps a dishonorable offer would be preferable.
“Yes, he returned to England on the same long, arduous voyage as your nieces. The colonel was quite busy on the trip, it seems, for he brought back with him a collection of rare, valuable plants seldom seen at his horticultural society. He had been in constant correspondence with his fellow members, who encouraged him to bring what he could for their observation, and advised him on how to keep the plants alive and thriving. Why, he would carry them onto the deck on sunny days, and he gathered his own rainwater to keep them moist. Your nieces helped.”
“How lovely of them.” At the mention of her nieces, Margaret wondered if it was possible to drown oneself in a bowl of soup.
“Colonel Brookstone thought so. And he thought their visit to his daughter’s town house this morning was polite and charming.”
Perhaps she ought to try the wine. “This morning? Impossible. The girls were at lessons while I attended Lady Bartlett.”
He raised one golden eyebrow.
Margaret raised her wineglass. “Never tell me they went traipsing through London on their own! They promised me they would not.”
Wolf waved one elegant hand, the light glinting off his signet ring. “The colonel’s daughter lives directly across the square. They were in no danger. Then.” Phillip brought the next course and laid a small fish across each of their plates.
“The colonel came to visit me,” Wolf said when the servant left.
Margaret thought she knew how the poor fish felt. “The colonel was distraught. His best blooms had gone missing, cut off the plants a week before his presentation to the horticultural society. I naturally and honestly denied knowing anything about any flowers, and vehemently swore to the colonel that your nieces, my houseguests, children assumed to be my wards by most of London, were blameless. They are angels, are they not?”
“Most of the time.”
“Today was not one of those times. When I went upstairs after the colonel’s visit, I found a bouquet on my bed.”
Margaret could not look the cooked fish in its one eye, or the viscount in his accusatory blue ones, so she studied the centerpiece, a pretty floral arrangement…of unusual flowers she could not identify. “This bouquet?”
“The very one. Odd, I never knew my valet enjoyed arranging flowers. He spent quite an hour achieving just the right effect, but then Paul has always been a perfectionist.” Wolf touched his snowy white neckcloth, which was a marvel of intricate folds and creases.
“How…interesting.”
“Yes, but not as interesting as the note attached to the bouquet.” Wolf handed her a card, one of his own.
“Turn it over.”
On the back was written, TRUELY YOURS, MISS MARGARET TODD.
“What do you have to say about that?”
“That they should have been at their lessons, learning to spell ‘truly.’”
“Miss Todd, I have never claimed to understand women or children. But this goes beyond mere incomprehension. Your brats escaped the house without permission, decimated a gentleman’s greenhouse and forged your signature. Why?”
Margaret had to confess. She just did not have to say it loudly enough for Lord Wolfram to hear.
“I beg your pardon, could you say that again?”
Margaret took her napkin away from her mouth. “They want you to like me.”
“But I do. I admire you greatly, surely they know that. I allowed you to stay on at Wolfram House because of your devotion to duty, your serious, intelligent nature and your competence. Anyone who feels loyalty toward Lady Bartlett must be a saint. And I do know how hard you work, which is totally unnecessary, as I have told you, trying to make my home more comfortable for me. If I have not expressed myself to you or the children, I am sorry.”
Embarrassed at his praise, Margaret only whispered that she liked to feel useful, and that he was the one who deserved their gratitude and apologies.
Wolf was not finished. “You are calm in an emergency, restful to be around, soft-spoken and well-read. And lovely to look at, of course.”
Ignoring the last, lest she turn the color of her peach gown, Margaret said, “I am the perfect lady’s companion, in other words. Unfortunately, my nieces hope to make a match.”
“They are too young. There is plenty of time to worry about your social position and their futures when they are ready to be presented.”
“You do not understand. They wish to make a match for me. Now. With you.”
Wolf’s fork hit the floor. His feet almost did too, running. With effort, he stayed in his seat. “Damn.”
“Damn, indeed,” Margaret boldly echoed.
Wolf thought a moment, then asked, “They wished to win a wedding proposal by stealing flowers?”
“I am not altogether sure about the reasoning behind the flowers, except they are eager to please you. They desperately want to stay here with you. And they also want to stay with me. Regrettably, your aunt does not seem to require a lady’s companion, which would have been an obvious solution. Besides, that is not a permanent enough answer for children who have been so uprooted. Your aunt could die—I apologize for the bluntness—or move to a cottage in the country, or you could find a replacement. A companion can be dismissed. A wife cannot. Katherine and Alexandra have their hearts set on our marriage.”
“That is absurd.”
“Absurd,” she agreed.
Both of them were suddenly very busy cutting their meat served next, piling their peas, straightening the silverware.
“Is it?”
“Is it what, my lord?”
“Is the idea of a match between us so absurd?” Margaret took a deep breath, taking a moment to think, as if she had not thought about anything else in days. “Of course it is. You can pick your wife from the highest families in the land, acceptable in your social circles. Your viscountess must be a woman who brings a huge dowry or acres of land or political advancement, if that is what you wish. All I bring are two possibly penniless orphans.”
“And a borrowed hunting cat.”
“And an irate retired army officer.”
“Do not forget Lady Bartlett’s ire.”
She nodded. “Furthermore, I would never marry a gentleman with such a roguish reputation as yours, not even to secure my future or my nieces’. That way lies heartbreak for all of us. I would be miserable with an unfaithful husband, and you would be wretched with a jealous wife.”
“So it is a silly, childish notion?” he asked, smiling.
“Yes,” she said, not smiling, because he had so readily agreed with her. He might have argued a little bit!
Instead, he refilled his wineglass, and
hers, his hand brushing her arm. “But if we were equal, and I not a rake, would you consider a proposal from me?”
If he touched her again, or flashed that smile, she might consider the primrose path after all. Margaret sipped her wine and considered. “If you were a clerk or a tutor or a vicar, say? Who promised to be true to his vows?”
He nodded.
“Then, yes, I would carefully consider your suit. And what if I were a well-dowered debutante or a duke’s daughter? Would you offer for me?”
He smiled again, showing dimples. “In an instant. I would be trampling all your other swains to seek your hand first. I would challenge any beau who stood in my way, especially a clerk or a tutor or a vicar.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous,” he agreed, but his smile faded at the thought of some clerk or tutor or vicar—realistic matches for a lady’s companion—carrying her off. He waved away the footman with his tray of ashes and chaff. Apples and cheese, that was. When Phillip left, Wolf asked—and was angry at himself for doing so— “You do like me?”
Now she laughed. “What female would not?” He was so handsome Greek gods paled in comparison, although Margaret would not say so. “You are charming and generous, kind to animals and small children and elderly relations. I have seen how diligent you are about your estate duties, and your servants adore you, which is high recommendation indeed. You are chivalrous, not only rescuing us but keeping the colonel from retribution. You have a wonderful sense of humor.” And a glorious smile that warmed her from her head to her toes, with a stop and a stay at her heart. Like him? Margaret liked his lordship all too well. She rose from her chair, forcing him to rise also. The dinner was over. “And there is always your title and your fortune.”
An Enchanted Christmas Page 27