A Very Matchmaker Christmas

by Christi Caldwell

  Henri widened her eyes. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. And then opened it again. No words came out. Hastily, she pulled the door closed with a quiet click, and trailing her fingertips over the pieces of furniture scattered about the room, she made her way over to him. “It was Lord Munthorpe, wasn’t it?”

  He stilled. By God, how did she know that?

  “He no doubt discovered your love for Winifred.”

  He choked. “H-how in blazes…?”

  Henri rolled her eyes. “Come, one would have to be blind to fail and note your regard for the lady.” Her spectacles slipped forward and she shoved them back. She gave him a wry smile. “And I’m only a bit blind.”

  His heart pulled and he ruffled her curls the way he’d done when she was a mere girl. An accident had left her blind in her left eye when she’d been just six years old. After that, the carefree, wild child she’d been had become subdued and silent with all—except him.

  “You need to go to her,” Henri said firmly.

  With a sound of impatience, he raked a hand through his hair. “It is complicated.”

  “You are a rogue. You fell in love with your best friend’s sister, and he is displeased by your interest in his sister.” She folded her arms. “How is that complicated?”

  He cocked his head.

  “I take it by your silence, I am correct?”

  Trent managed his first smile since the bottom had fallen out from underneath his world yesterday. “All but the displeased part.” He paused. “He was livid.” Enraged enough to want his blood on the dueling field. Then would Trent have taken warmly to a rogue who’d had Henri’s skirts about her waist? Rage dotted his vision. No. Munthorpe’s reaction was merited. That and more.

  Henri furrowed her pale brow. She leaned up on tiptoe and took in the bruises marring his face. “And he did this to you?” she muttered. “I know he has been a good friend to you through the years, but I say I shall never forgive Munthorpe for this.”

  “It is complicated, poppet,” he said tiredly. The other man didn’t deserve his sister’s ire.

  “Is it?” she returned.

  Restless, he returned to his spot at the window. The servants finished loading the last of the trunks atop the carriage.

  “Do not come, Trent. You do not want to be there.” Any more than she no doubt wanted to be there. “Go to her. Munthorpe’s friendship matters, but does that matter more than your heart and Winifred’s?”

  His sister’s words froze him and he stared. “When did you become so wise?” he said more to himself.

  She smiled and the visage reflected in the windowpane hinted at a wealth of sadness more fitting a woman older than her tender seventeen years. “I have had a lot of time to sit and contemplate.” Yes, as the partially blind daughter to the regal, proud Marchioness of Hollingbrooke, Henri roused the same sense of apathy that Trent had through the years.

  A knock sounded at the door and the butler appeared. “His Lordship has requested you and Lady Henrietta join him in the foyer.”

  Only when the old servant left did Trent and Henri groan. “Shall we?” He held out his arm.

  She hesitated. “I do not need your help.” Challenge lit her eyes.

  His heart swelled. His proud sister had more strength and courage than all the gentlemen of the ton combined; he was certainly included in that pathetic collection. His family however had been too foolish to see the gift Henri was. Trent shook his arm. “We all need help in some way, Henri.” And just then, she’d provided more help than he could have ever given her.

  Henri hesitated and then placed her fingertips on his sleeve. “Well,” she said, when they’d left the room.

  “Well?”

  She pinched his arm. “What do you intend to do?”

  They turned right at the end of the corridor and entered the foyer. Footmen stood in wait with his other, ever-obedient sister, Georgie, in her cloak.

  “At last,” his brother muttered, stuffing his timepiece inside his cloak.

  Trent leaned down and bussed his sister on the cheek. “You’ll be all right without me?” he whispered.

  She smiled slowly. “You are going to her?”

  He nodded once and grinned. No doubt he had the look of a lovesick swain. Trent gave his head a wry shake. At one time, he’d have shuddered at even the possibility of it. “I’m going to her.” Now all that mattered was her—Winnie.

  “Where are you going?” his mother sputtered. “We are to leave now, Trent. We’ll not wait for you.”

  “I’m touched that you desire my company this holiday season,” he said dryly. His sisters buried their amusement in their hands. He winked at Henri and Georgie. Then, with a slight bow, Trent turned and prepared to face his future.

  Chapter Eight

  2 days later

  After an interminable carriage ride with her oft-tittering mother and absent-minded father, as well as her brother’s sharp, angry glares, Winnie had never been more grateful to see a single residence in all her twenty—nearly twenty-one—years. She stared out into the countryside dusted with snow, to the sprawling estate of the Earl and Countess of Weston.

  The carriage rocked to a jarring halt. She grunted as she slammed against the side of the conveyance. But she embraced that sting of pain for it reminded her she felt something other than this crushing emptiness at Trent’s rejection. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she gripped the edge of the bench hard. Then, what choice had he been given? A duel with her brother, at Christmastime, no less? A growl worked its way from her chest, up her throat. Her brother at least had the good sense to shift his gaze away.

  “Tsk, tsk. Mustn’t do anything as unladylike as grunt, my dear.” Growl. It had been a bloody growl. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

  She winced at her mother’s high-pitched giggle. That evidence of happiness when her own world should be so shattered scraped at her nerves.

  “Quite, my love. Quite.” Her rotund father, with a bulbous nose and cherry-red cheeks had been ‘quite, my loving’ as long as Winnie remembered speaking.

  Her patience snapped. “I’m sore and tired. I imagine a small grunt, groan, or moan would be acceptable in at least the presence of one’s family.”

  James met her gaze, the hard glint in his eyes, at odds with the affable charmer he’d always been. “I think you forget about what is acceptable and what is not.”

  “And I think you always have your nose in business that does not involve you.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped his gaze to their parents who eyed them, perplexed. Fortunately, the servant chose that opportune moment to open the door.

  A blast of cold winter air whipped through the expansive carriage. Winnie fastened her cloak at the neck and burrowed into its thick red velvet folds. A servant reached inside and handed Mother down. Father exited behind her. Winnie made to step out of the carriage, but James threw his arm across the entrance, staying her attempt. Gritting her teeth, she focused her gaze on the collar of his cloak. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to be happy,” James said quietly.

  She scoffed. “If that were true you’d have not threatened to duel,” the man I love, “Trent.” And shoving past him, she hurried after her parents.

  She glanced out the opened door to where her mother prattled on beside Lady Weston, still very much awake and impeccable. They chatted excitedly much the way they’d surely done as young girls many years ago. Plotting to marry her off. To one of the titled lords invited here, no doubt. Tears smarted behind her eyes. She’d not have the king and all his kingdom. She wanted but one other. Blinking back the blasted useless drops, she started forward.

  Lady Weston leaned down and whispered something into the much shorter and rounder woman’s ears. They gave a pleased nod. In unison. When Mother, not altogether the brightest candle in the kingdom and more clumsy than most, never, ever did anything in unison with…really anyone. Except for Father, of course. She narrowed her eyes
on the pair. Society had deemed a woman incapable of making any decision of importance. Mothers and fathers, and even brothers treated the daughters of the respectable families as though they were key players upon the chessboard of life. She firmed her jaw. She’d not accept interference, from any of them.

  Mother looked up and smiled widely. “Do come along, Winnie. James.” She clapped her hands and then started forward, up the spiraling stone steps to the portico. “What good fun this week will be! There will be dinners and shopping outings and…”

  Winnie ceased paying attention to her mother’s prattling.

  As her father trailed after the women like an obedient terrier, Winnie winced. A bloody shopping outing? She’d be expected to go off with her friends, the other young ladies present, and admire the shop windows as though her heart had not been completely shattered?

  Her brother took a step toward her. When he spoke, regret tinged his tone. “Winnie—”

  Snapping her skirts, she sailed past him. He could take his useless words and stuff those inside a Christmas window. They entered the countess’ home, and Winnie unfastened the clasp at her throat.

  The countess’ servants rushed forward to collect their cloaks and gloves. Periodically, the Lady Weston and Winnie’s mother stole a glance at her. They whispered, nodded, and then continued whispering. Winnie’s skin heated as she recalled the discussion between James and Trent days earlier in the billiards room. She fisted her hands so hard, her nails dug crescents into her palms. Surely the two women had given up on the hope of Winnie wedding Lady Weston’s son? How could they have failed to realize somewhere along the way she had given her heart to Lord Trent Ballantine?

  She peered around the expansive foyer, knowing it was entirely too early to retire for the night, and yet a desperate longing to retire to her temporary rooms and shut out all the blasted inanity of the holiday season flooded her.

  “I do say, are you looking for anyone in particular?”

  A startled shriek escaped Winnie’s lips, and she spun around to find the owner of that familiar, and very much amused whisper. She twitched with the urge to fling her arms around the grinning Lady Prudence, Lady Carlisle’s daughter. They’d been friends since the nursery. A more unlikely pairing there never was; Winnie with her tendency to seek out trouble, and Prudence with her fear of sinning, they could not be more different. Yet, their friendship struck a type of harmonious balance that bonded them, as though they were sisters.

  Prudence looked at her with a happy gleam in her friendly eyes. Then her smile froze. She worked a quick gaze over Winnie’s face. “I’ve been awaiting your carriage. I was afraid you’d be delayed in your travels and miss the visit to the village the Countess has planned this week.” She looped her arm through hers. “I’ll take Winnie to her chambers,” she called to her mother. The two matrons waved them on. Prudence steered them above stairs. “I’ve made certain your chambers are near mine and Jane’s for the holiday.”

  She dug deep for false cheer. “Splendid.” And it was. For then, she’d not have to be bothered with her traitorous brother, or her matchmaking parents as company.

  “Come, when we were younger, the countess’ planned outing into the village was always your favorite part of the season.”

  Winnie bit hard on the inside of her cheek. That had been when Trent chose to miss the annual hunt taken part in by the other gentlemen present, and instead make Christmas boughs with her and her friends.

  Her friend shot her a sideways glance. “Lord Trent?”

  Where most members of the ton prided themselves on sharing nothing of themselves with other peers, this woman had been more sister than friend through the years. There were no secrets between them. Winnie managed a jerky nod. After all, when you knew a soul as long as the girls had known one another, secrets were few and far between.

  Prudence brought them to a stop before a door at the far end of the hall. She pressed the handle and motioned Winnie inside. With wooden steps, Winnie entered the opulent chambers adorned in shades of pale pink and white. Her friend closed the door behind them, and leaned against it. “Well?” She folded her arms at her chest.

  “I don’t—”

  Prudence scowled. “Do not insult our friendship by claiming you do not know what I’m speaking about.” She looked at Winnie from the top of her head to her toes. “What has he done? Lord Trent,” she cut in when Winnie made to issue another false protestation.

  She bit her lip hard and gave her head a shake, fearing the moment she turned over one detail to her friend, that she’d be reduced to a pathetic, sobbing mess. And years ago, they’d all agreed—tears were unbecoming of a lady.

  “Winifred Isolde Grisham,” Prudence scolded, in a tone better suited to their oft-displeased mamas.

  With a frustrated sigh, Winnie spun about and marched deeper into the chambers. Her footsteps echoed quietly on the plush Aubusson carpet. “There is nothing to say. I told Trent I loved him.”

  Her friend’s gasp cut into her telling. “Never say he did not return your sentiments. Surely not. I have seen the way he looks at you.”

  Distractedly, she stopped beside the vanity and picked up the floral French perfume bottle; the crystal cool in her palms. “No,” she said softly. “Just the opposite.” And with that pledge he’d given her everything she’d ever wanted in life.

  Prudence moved in a flurry of noisy skirts. “He professed his love.”

  Her fingers trembled and she forced herself to set down the tiny bauble. For years, she’d thought the greatest hurdle to her happiness was managing to convince Trent he loved her. What irony to know that her blasted brother had represented the divide between them. “H-he did,” she whispered.

  Prudence took her by the shoulders. A wide smile formed on her lips. “That is wonderful. Why are you so—”

  “My brother discovered us.”

  Prudence froze. She cocked her head. “Discovered you?”

  Heat scorched a path from her chest, to her neck, all the way to her cheeks. “Embracing.” More than embracing, but certainly no details she’d share with anyone, including her dearest friends. Those exchanges belonged to no one but Winnie and Trent.

  Her friend released her and sank back on her heels. “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear, indeed.” Eager to have the whole rotted tale done, she shared all with Prudence. From the billiards lesson one week earlier to skating at the River Thames, and then to James’ threat of a duel. When she’d finished, silence rang through the room.

  “Oh, Winnie,” Prudence whispered. She took Winnie’s hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “I have to believe he will not simply set aside what you two both share. He—”

  “Is not coming for the holiday season.”

  The other young woman frowned. “Well, I do say it would be rather difficult to arrive when a duel has been threatened by your great lummox of a brother.” She released Winnie’s fingers and tapped her lip distractedly. “We will solve this.” Ever the doer of the group, Prudence demonstrated a confidence Winnie had never possessed.

  She nodded and dropped her gaze to that perfume bottle. To give herself something to do, Winnie picked it up again and studied the faint crystal snowflake etched on the glass.

  “Come,” Prudence urged. “Join me and Jane and Leticia in the parlor. It will give you something else to think on.”

  Winnie mustered a smile for her friend’s benefit. “I am tired from our travels. I am going to stay behind.” At Prudence’s sound of protest, she set the crystal bauble back down. “I will be fine. I merely wish to rest before the evening’s meal.” Prudence hesitated. Indecision raged in her eyes. “Go,” Winnie urged. She didn’t want anyone’s company at this moment.

  “You are certain? Because I would not leave you—”

  “I am certain,” she said with far more conviction than she felt. For as Prudence took her leave, she readily acknowledged she wasn’t altogether certain of anything any more.

  Chapter N
ine

  The noisy chatter and the joyous laughter had often been Winnie’s favorite part of the Countess of Weston’s holiday parties. So much so, that over the years, when the Christmastide celebrations joined by their families became less and less frequent, she’d lamented the quieter, more intimate ones celebrated by her own family.

  Yes, Mama and Papa sat beside one another, periodically whispering and boldly praising the mince pie. Lady Weston studied the guests present, a meddling glimmer in her eyes. Winnie skimmed her gaze over her friends, and then she shot it back to Prudence. The young lady held her fork but made no move to take a bite of the contents on her plate. Instead, her attention remained…

  She widened her eyes and took in Christopher Chance, the heir presumptive to the Earl of Arundell. When Lady Weston had performed the necessary introductions that evening, Winnie hadn’t paid any attention to the gentleman brought along by Jane’s older brother, Stephen. Now she noted the furtive glances her friend stole at the tall gentleman and…A vicious, ugly envy stabbed her. And longing. The gentleman stared boldly at Prudence through thick, hooded lashes. She gripped her fork hard, aching for another gentleman’s presence. A man who’d looked at her in that very way.

  Trent…

  He and his blasted sense of honor and her brother’s blasted obstinacy. Yes, she’d always eagerly anticipated Lady Weston’s gatherings. This occasion, however, proved the exception. To drive back the lump in her throat, she grabbed her glass and took a sip of her tepid wine.

  From the head of the table, the countess called out to no one in particular, “I daresay, I expected Lord Trent to join our festivities.”

  The glass tumbled from Winnie’s fingers. Servants rushed forward. But the damage had been done. Liquid filled the untouched contents of her plate and stained the tablecloth. It dripped from the edge and marred her ivory skirts. Her skin pricked as the absolute silence of the table registered. Blinking wildly, she picked up her head. Heat slapped her cheeks. The large collection of lords and ladies present stared curiously at her. Nay, not everyone. Prudence stared on with a gentle concern.