“I will miss you,” Rose said with complete sincerity. Her friends made her London seasons possible. Without Win’s gorgeous sense of humor, and even better sense of style, winter would be so drab. “Can I offer you anything to make you stay?”
Win pretended to consider. “I’m sorry, but if a macaroon can’t bribe me, nothing can. Have you heard Della’s latest composition?”
“She gave me a preview a few weeks ago.”
“Poor you.”
Rose and Win laughed. Win always said that Della’s playing, Hebe’s nonsense, and Rose’s singing lost her any suitors she might have, and they said not to worry because her drawing would be the death of them, but the truth was they would support each other until their last breath. “I’m afraid she might be a genius,” Rose said seriously.
“Which impresses you and me. Not Hebe, of course, because she can’t hold a tune. I still haven’t seen Hebe ...”
Neither had Rose. Hebe had married a few months ago, and hadn’t yet called on anyone. “I might have to call on her whether she leaves a card or not.” Her gaze met Win’s. They both knew Hebe meant to drop out of society, but they couldn’t let her go, not yet.
Macaroons and tea arrived, and a few other callers, and the day turned into the same as the day before, except that Rose couldn’t look forward to Win calling again for the next few months. She could only hope that Hebe would give in, soon.
During the following weeks, she attended balls and soirees and supper dances and musical recitals and assemblies, and she had another proposal.
Her life was wretched.
Sir Ian Temple scratched at the scar on the back of his shoulder, beneath his snowy-white, perfectly starched, cravat. Damned thing. Scratching was at least satisfying one of Sir Ian’s itches. The bullet had missed a major artery but the reminder that life was short was ever present. Although he was dedicated to his parliamentary duties, he couldn’t concentrate on the current speaker in the chamber, who droned on. The mild weather had taken a turn for the worse, and everyone sat on the padded benches rugged up to the eyeballs. Even now, before winter had hit, the place smelled like a combination of camphorated oil, garlic, and sweaty mustard plasters.
The itch persisted and his mind kept wandering to his greatest itch, the need to marry and begin a family. His mother, in her late thirties before she had produced him, wasn’t getting any younger. The dowager countess had refused to move to London anyway, her priority being the children of his older brother, the current duke of Templeton. Ian couldn’t keep relying on Mrs. Darnell’s dinners and receptions to manage his social life, which in turn ran his parliamentary life. As a prominent so-called war hero, his major job was finding work for army veterans. The country offered pensions to officers, but the common soldiers still stood limbless on street corners, begging.
He had been fighting for constitutional change and decent wages for all, but the task seemed never-ending. Underemployment was rife. The rich grew richer and the war-disabled starved. He heaved a sigh and rubbed where he had scratched. Perhaps he should leave early for the Christmas break and go back home, now. The Darnells had decided to stay and he didn’t care to watch beautiful Rose willfully teasing her suitors any longer.
He left the chamber, morose and tired, and took a cab to his rooms on Clarges Street. His valet came out of the dressing room, holding a boot and a polishing cloth. He inclined his head. “Sir.”
“As you so rightly infer, I’ve had enough politics for the time being. In fact, for the next month. You can begin packing. I’m going home for the Christmas break, and I will be leaving tomorrow.”
“I will begin packing instantly.” His ex-military valet clicked his heels, which never failed to confound Ian. He had the urge to say ‘at ease, soldier.’
“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be driving my curricle so you will need to travel in the coach. In the meantime, I plan to see Darnell.”
In fact, he planned to take his last long glimpse of vain and shallow Rose. After that, he would make a concerted effort to find a more suitable bride for a man who was determined to rise in governmental ranks the way he had arisen in the army ranks, by sheer determination and hard work. Staying alive was also useful.
He took his curricle and his groom, another former soldier, Marty Martin, to the Darnells’ house on Park Street, a four-storied red brick with a columned portico. After asking his groom to collect him in an hour, he let himself be ushered into the empty drawing room. Comforting warmth spread from the coal that crackled and sparked in the large stone fireplace. Paintings of rural scenes decorated three walls, and the place exuded calm. An inviting soft green velvet couch stood beneath the window.
“I’ll find Mr. Darnell for you, sir,” said the young footman. “I think he may be in the hothouse.”
Darnell loved his flowers. He grew them as others grew wheat, almost as a crop. About to seat himself, Ian heard the strains of “Queen of the Night,” one of Rose’s favorite challenges to her incredible voice. Ian thought she had won the battle years previously, but apparently she needed to keep testing.
He’d thought she was rather sweet when he had first met her, but her looks brought her unwarranted attention. Her conceit expanded in the same proportion as the numbers of her suitors grew. She was utterly determined to be noticed. But when she began to sing, the sound and the fury, and the highs and lows echoed the sorrow of a voice used for no purpose but to call attention to herself. At times he had wanted to grab her up and kiss her until he silenced her. For reasons known only to the fool he was, he visited this damned house at least three times per week, but he didn’t always see her. That was his punishment to himself, for wanting the shallow beauty so much that the craving had become almost unbearable.
“Ian.” Mrs. Mary Darnell, gray-haired, slim, and elegant, hastened into the room. “Andrew won’t be long. One of his climbers blew off the trellis last night, and apparently he is the only person who can replace the branch. I told him he is too old to be climbing ladders, but he takes that as a challenge,” she said bitterly. “Men!”
“Men,” he repeated sagely. “If we have a hill to climb, we search for a mountain.”
“If only Rose would stop that everlasting caterwauling. She is giving me a headache.”
“Perhaps I could interrupt her. I can’t have my favorite Darnell in pain.”
She smiled. “I’m just a little prickly, cooped up here all week when it’s almost Christmas and I would rather be at home in the country. Yes, do interrupt Rose. I’ll go outside and ease my temper by telling Andrew for the hundredth time not to fall off the ladder. It has worked so far. He never has.” She disappeared in a flutter of delicate skirts and a trail of her fine woolen shawl.
Ian heaved a strengthening breath, and made his way to the music room. He opened the door to the sight Rose‘s perfect face while in the middle of one of the ha-ha notes. Not a singer, nor interested in music, he didn’t know any musical terms. She stopped mid ‘ha.’ Her shoulders slumped as she let the air out of her chest. “Mama is somewhere about,” she said in a breathless voice. She cleared her throat.
“She’s just gone outside to save your father’s life.”
The light from the window emphasized the perfection of her facial structure. “What is he interfering with now?”
“He’s on a ladder. Your mother feels he is not safe on ladders.” He watched her questioning expression change to amusement.
“You would never imagine that not only do we have a gardener but we have many young and healthy footmen who could climb ladders if need be.”
“Your father isn’t one to let life pass him by.”
“If he isn’t careful, his interfering will cause life to give up on him.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you want me?”
“Not you in particular, but I might not see your family for a few months and thought I should take my leave.”
“Win’s gone, too. Soon I’ll be the only person left in London.” Her beautiful li
ps pouted.
He had the urge to put his arm around her shoulders and comfort her, but he wouldn’t fall for her precious wiles. Which would make him the only man in London who wouldn’t. “Except for your many suitors.”
“Suitors! Oh, spare me. None are serious. If I had a bag over my head, no one would propose.”
He laughed.
Her face relaxed, her eyes sparkled, and she offered a casual shrug. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be easy to propose to a hessian bag. I admit to a tendency to overdramatize myself.”
He offered his arm to escort her to the drawing room, and she returned a smile calculated to break his heart. He steeled himself yet again to her wiles. Apparently, she would allow no man to escape her toils.
He, however, was no longer twenty years-old and prone to suffering a cock-stand at inconvenient times, but he still had a stirring that he could hide under the bunch of his breeches when he sat. If he grew too uncomfortable, he could always cross his legs. He had noticed many crossed legs when gentlemen sat beside Rose, which only said that gentlemen were far too impressionable.
An ambitious man, and he was one, should want a woman who could run his house quietly and efficiently, act as his hostess, and have his children. Instead he had an insatiable ache for this spoilt young woman who would make him her slave if she could. An ex-colonel in the British Army should not be a slave to a precocious flirt.
“So, you’re going back to Kent, Ian?” Mr. Andrew Darnell, her hapless father said as he appeared in the doorway. He settled the tails of his coat into his usual chair, the one farthest from the fire. He preferred to have his loved ones sit in comfort.
A good man, Andrew was. His wife was also a delight, supportive, patient, and good humored. Ian hoped for an alliance as comfortable. “The gardener on my estate has prepared a Yule log for when I arrive back in my country house. My brother, Templeton, and his wife will be bringing the dowager countess as well to spend Christmas with me this year.”
“If you’re leaving for Christmas too, London will be practically bare.” Rose’s eyes widened and glistened. “Honestly, Papa, we should leave, too. The weather is going to be atrocious and it’s never as bad in Kent.”
“I don’t intend to keep you here if you don’t wish to stay but I need your mother here as long as possible. We are holding an important dinner next week.”
“And the boys aren’t expecting us to pick them up from school until the week before Christmas,” Mrs. Darnell added, placing a velvet cushion behind her back.
“If I went earlier I could get the house prepared for you all when you come.” Rose leaned forward in her chair, her gaze fixed on her mother.
“That would be delightful—”
“And Sir Ian might allow me space in his carriage.” Rose sat back and sent him a challenging glance.
Ian glanced sideways at her. “I would, of course, were I not planning on driving the curricle,” he said an even voice.
“Oh, Ian, do you think that is wise?” Mrs. Darnell took her gaze from Rose and showed Ian a creased forehead. “Snow is expected. You might end up with a chill, and that would ruin Christmas for your dear family.”
“I expect Rose would be bored, stuck in a carriage with me for two days.” He kept his tone polite, but the idea of being shut inside a carriage with her appalled him. He would be perpetually cross-legged and she would want to talk about the balls, and routs, and dinners that she was missing, or which of her suitors was the most amusing.
Rose offered him a flawlessly beautiful glance, using a demure lowering of her eyelashes. “I could take my embroidery. But, of course, if you think you would be bored having to sit with me for two days ...”
“Not at all,” he said, meshing his fingers together and resting them in his lap, trying to concentrate on the Lord being his shepherd. “The boot would be on the other foot. You would be bored.”
“Not if I am reading a book. So, that’s settled then,” she said with a melting smile. “Papa, should you reserve two rooms at The Traveler’s Rest for us? That’s where we usually stay during the journey,” she said to Ian.
“I’ll send ahead,” her father said in a wary voice. “Rose, dear, are you sure?”
“You would need to take a maid with you.” Her mother sounded worried.
“Of course, Mama. I’m sure Bess would be delighted to see her family.”
Her mother scratched the back her neck. “I’m sure she would, dear, but we have so much winter packing to do, that I can’t spare her at the moment. I would rather send her later with our baggage, if you don’t mind.”
“I know I can manage without her,” Rose answered, surprised. “ I’m sure The Traveler’s Rest will have a maid I can use.”
“Unfortunately, I shall have to make sure I arrive home before the snow sets in. The coach not being as fast as the curricle, I would need to leave by six in the morning,” Ian said sympathetically, certain that idle Rose couldn’t meet his deadline.
“Oh, what a good idea,” Rose said in a happy voice. “I think I should be out the front with my boxes before six, don’t you? It might take a few minutes to load me on.”
“If she isn’t out the front by six, Ian, go without her. I’ve never known her to open her eyes before seven, even in summer,” her realistic father said. “She can leave with her mother and the boys next week.”
But beautiful Rose did no more than smile prettily. “Since Sir Ian will have to change his mode of transport to accommodate me, I wouldn’t be so inconsiderate as to hold him up.”
He decided he would arrive at five forty-five and if he saw no lights in the house, he would leave a note to say he had gone.
Having Rose all to himself for two days meant he would need to take enough work to keep his mind occupied. His faked disinterest in her would be exposed as the sham it was if she noticed how easily she could distract him.
Chapter 2
As soon as Sir Ian left, Rose raced up to her room. She had two full days with her elusive hero. At last she had a chance to prove she was a suitable wife for him.
At times she had seen a certain look in his hazel eyes, one of restrained amusement, which she could assume might be awareness, but whenever she had flirted with him, or tried to, he turned away. In a carriage, although he could still turn away, she would soon see if he honestly had no interest in her. If he didn’t begin to show some attraction to her during that time, he wouldn’t ever, and she could finally give up on him.
She blinked away her blurry vision as she began to examine her gowns, deciding which would be the easiest to manage without the assistance of a maid: a gown that would not need pressing or help with the lacing when they stopped at the inn for the night. At the thought of managing to undress without help, her mind flitted back to Sir Ian, a natural progression for a woman who thought of little else. Times without number she had imagined being held in his arms, gripped hard against him for a long, deep kiss. On the very few occasions she had managed to trap him into a Quadrille, the clasp of his fingers had caused her entire body to yearn.
She doubted he shared the same thoughts about her, but she knew from the first young man who had insisted he loved her, that her body enticed him more than her soul. If she thought the sight of any part of her person would entice Sir Ian, she needed to be prepared to bare a shoulder or show more than a hint of her breasts. Her plan was to try her hardest to lure Sir Ian. If she saw the slightest response, she would lean into him when the coach rounded corners, or reach across him for reasons she would need to invent. She would use every single feminine lack of subtlety she could devise.
If she had to go as far as compromising herself, she would. This could be her only chance to make her life her own. She would eventually have to marry. Not being blessed with Win’s fortitude, Rose knew she could never cope with the life of a spinster. Her parents had a wonderful relationship, and Mama had told her that she had chosen Papa long before he had noticed her.
Mama would certainly a
pprove of Sir Ian as Rose’s choice. Papa respected him as much as he respected any man. Rose had a small inheritance herself but Sir Ian was extremely wealthy, having inherited a substantial estate from his father, the late Earl of Templeton. She wouldn’t change a thing about him, not even his altruism. Accustomed to a household that ran on political lines, she had the experience and contacts Sir Ian needed in a wife. Her parents constantly entertained, not only British legislators but also overseas dignitaries. She would be instituting a successful alliance, if only he would look past her age.
Her maid, Bess, tapped on the door and slid into the room. “I hear I’m needed to help you pack, Miss Rose.”
“I have enough winter gowns at home to last me until you bring the rest, but I shall want something warm and comfortable to wear during the journey, something that won’t be too hard for me to put on by myself.”
“I told your mother I could pack and be ready to go in an instant but she said she needed me here. But don’t worry, Miss Rose. You’ll have help at the inn. You only need to ask.”
“Of course,” Rose answered without glancing at her maid. “If I could have the green woolen gown with the pinafore front left out to wear ...”
“Yes, Miss. But I will certainly be here in the morning to dress you before you go. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to style your own hair. I wonder what your mother wants with me while you’re away?”
Mama had surprised Rose with her strange order. “Packing, she said.”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that. If we are leaving next week, we will have plenty to do here. I will need to pack the rest of your winter gowns if you are not planning to return, soon.”
“I don’t have any set plans, yet, Bess. This one turned out to be convenient since Sir Ian is leaving tomorrow. I may as well go now as next week. I’ll have the house spic and span, and ready for when Mama and Papa and the boys arrive.”
Rose had told enough half-truths to last her for a year. If she told any more, her head would spin off her shoulders, but this was her one chance and she would be a fool not to use the opportunity. Her pleasure in Sir Ian’s company, her willingness to fit into any of his plans, and her ability to make him comfortable could well impress him enough to finally notice she would be a perfect match for him.
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 95