A lady of sincere affections.
Chapter 2
Graham George Wynter, Viscount Sherbrooke, stared at his father, the earl of Deerwood, in mute amazement. The man appeared decidedly flushed, and from how he repeatedly raked his fingers through his dark hair and patted his top jacket pocket, he was quite agitated. Graham stretched his legs and leaned more firmly against the cushion of his chair.
“Does your note bear bad news?” he asked, taking a careful sip of his brandy.
Graham had been at a newly purchased country estate in Hampshire, which its former owners had been forced by bankruptcy to sell. He had been working closely with architects on the renovations, when he had opened a rambling letter from his father, one that had been bloody difficult for him to decipher. Certain phrases had caught at his mind and had filled him with alarm. And he was not the sort of man prone to an excessive display of emotions.
‘I’ve met the most wonderful woman.’
‘I think it might be time I marry again, except I cannot tell if she is indifferent to me or interested.’
‘I’ve asked Alice to plan a house party for Christmas, and I mean to invite Lady Danby and her charming daughters.’
‘I’ve taken the liberty to procure a special license, but I do not believe she might have me.’
Those were the phrases that had stuck with him as he rode in the ghastly weather as fast as the road conditions allowed for several days while overnighting at inns. Perhaps the most alarming bit in his father’s evidently hasty letter was this plan to marry a lady who seemed quite indifferent to his affections. His father was a man who fell easily in love. Graham scowled, recalling the last fiasco and the scandal it had wrought.
Within a few weeks of meeting one Lady Wilma Prescott—a celebrated beauty in the ton—his father had declared himself in love and had offered for the lady. She was twenty years his junior and had happily accepted. Then she had the temerity to slip beneath the sheets of Graham’s bed, all with the plan that they would have a rousing affair while she was married to his father.
He’d kicked her from his room with the threat he would ruin her should she try to further entrap his father. She had tearfully apologized, but Graham had been immune to her pleas begging his forgiveness and silence. Graham had been four and twenty at the time and had endured over the years many women trying to marry his father for his title and wealth. But that lady had been the boldest and most scandalous one. Graham had informed his father of his fiancée’s duplicity, and his father had withdrawn into himself, but at least he had forced Lady Wilma to officially end the engagement. That had been two and a half years’ ago, and his father’s letter had been the first since then to mention he had a new love interest.
“Father,” he said softly. “You are out of sorts.”
The earl carefully folded the letter, placed it in his top pocket, and turned to face him. “I did not expect you to travel down because of the weather. I know you have little patience for house parties and the sort.”
“We’ve always spent Christmas together.”
His father, still a very handsome man in his prime, smiled. “We do, my boy, but I still thought you would have sent down some excuse to not attend.”
Graham took another sip of his brandy. “Your letter warranted me making the trip.”
His father cast him a probing, considering glance. “You are familiar with our neighbor, Lady Danby, and her two daughters?”
A vague image floated through his thoughts, then a pair of bright pretty brown eyes and a dimpled smile came into sharp focus. Ah yes, …he’d met a Miss Callie Middleton several months’ earlier. She had been walking through the woods, which abutted their estate. Though she had been in a simple white day dress adorned with a yellow ribbon, her prettiness had stuck him. He’d watched for several minutes, thoroughly charmed by the animation of her features as she’d read her book. Her face had expressed a different reaction with each page she’d turned—a furrow of brows, irritation perhaps, then that biting of her bottom lip as if nervous, then that wide smile. At one point, she had gasped, screamed a bit, and pressed the book to her chest, and the happiest of sighs had escaped her. Graham had been amused and charmed by that oddity.
The young lady had looked up then, and her eyes had ensnared him with their expressive beauty. She had dipped into a curtsy, unaware he had watched for her almost thirty minutes. He’d tipped his hat in a polite gesture and walked away. When he’d glanced back, she had stood there, staring at him, her face one of surprised contemplation. He’d seen her a few times since then in the village but had made no effort of introducing himself.
“Are you referring to the widowed viscountess?”
A flush worked itself over his father’s cheekbones, and he glanced into the fire. “A most…pleasant, sweet, and amiable woman, if I’ve ever met one. And kind with such considerate manners. And so beautiful.”
That bit was said with such reverence, Graham sat straighter in the high wingback chair. “I see. And it is her you are wondering if you should…. make your new countess?”
His father sighed. “I suppose you think I am a fool over love.”
Graham winced. The very words he had roared at his father a few years ago when the earl had planned to offer for another woman, Lady Fairclough. Graham had struggled to understand how his father had considered marrying at least three different women in the last ten years. It seemed a bit inconstant to Graham. With each new lady love, the earl informed his children of his intentions, making them a full part of his decision-making. With each failed arrangement, his father had kept searching, and it seemed his entire concentration was on getting married.
It had baffled Graham for his father already had his heir and a beloved daughter. What use was marriage to the earl at this stage? Then he’d realized his father was lonely. The shock of that awareness had left Graham restless for weeks, and he had tried to spend more time with his father and ignored the pursuit of frivolities in Town. He’d been at his father’s side for the last several months learning estate management and helping him with his motions for the opening of Parliament. He’d recently taken over most of the duties of the earldom, leaving his father to live a more leisurely life and to be assured that when Graham did inherit, all would be well.
But he had still sensed his father’s dissatisfaction with life. “I do not think you are a fool father…you are simply searching for something.”
A singularly attractive smile crossed his father’s face. “And I believe I have found it. She is wonderful, and I am certain she is the one for me!”
“So you have said…at least twice before.”
His father flinched and regret burned in Graham’s gut. Surging to his feet, he stepped toward him. “Father, that was tactless—”
His father held up a hand, cutting off his words. “No. This time…” the earl took a deep breath. “This time…it is like how it was with your mother. Maybe even deeper.”
Guilt and something unfathomable darkened his father’s blue eyes. Graham slowly relaxed his fingers, which had tightened around his glass. Never before had his father compared the women he’d courted to the great love he’d had for Graham’s mother. “I see.”
His father cleared his throat. “I would like you and Emma to spend time with Amelia…Lady Danby.”
“Is our approval necessary, father?”
“No, but I would still like to hear my children’s valued opinions.”
Graham nodded. “And the note?”
His father hesitated briefly before plucking it from his pocket and handing it to Graham. He scanned the letter asking for a clandestine meeting. The words were scrawled in an elegantly flowing script. Nor was it signed, but whoever it was, wanted his father to meet them in the conservatory in less than an hour. That very hint of deception had anger curling through his gut.
Who are you?
“We are at a house party. I hardly think such subterfuge necessary,” he said dryly, quite irritated wi
th the author.
“Someone…a skilled waif slipped this note in my pocket! How alarmed and intrigued I was to find it. Expect I…I am not certain the author of this note is who I am dearly hoping it is!”
“The viscountess.”
“Yes,” his father snapped on an aggrieved sigh. “I do…I hope it is from her! For it would tell me clearly she has some feelings for me that are beyond friendship and neighborly courtesy.”
“Is she the sort to send such letters?” Though the wording was innocent enough, it could be a trap by anyone of the marriage-minded ladies in attendance. Twice now, his father had almost gotten caught by a woman of dubious standards and with only greed in their hearts.
“She is shy but comes alive within minutes of conversation. Then I see no shyness, only her good-natured charm, and vivacity for living…and blushes,” he said this with a bit of wonder and a smile on his lips. “I am uncertain she would be this bold.”
“Why not ask the viscountess how she feels?”
A tic jerked in his father’s cheek. “I tried,” he said gruffly. “She loved her husband very much. Only…he has only been lost to her these five years. I do not think she might be very willing or open to the idea of me courting her.”
Graham recalled the rumors which had surrounded the viscountess’s move to Gloucestershire. She was without funds, her widowed portion only enough to maintain the appearance of bare gentility. Her older daughter had her come out some years ago, which had not netted her any new connections or a match, and the younger girl had never had a Season in London. Now there was little opportunity for the viscountess to secure respectable matches for them.
The lady must be desperate to be married into a well-connected family. Either the viscountess or her daughters would do for an earl. He glanced down at the invitation to a tryst in the conservatory once more. How far would the widowed viscountess be willing to go?
“If you wish to see for yourself, Father, you should go, but be very mindful of the lady’s intentions.”
His father signed. “I will be. Once I see that it is not Amelia…I will politely extricate myself from the situation, and hope no one is around to witness what they might perceive as misconduct!”
And without a doubt, the identity of the author would be revealed, and Graham could keep a close watch on anyone prone to mischief for the remainder of the house party. Was his father walking into a compromising situation that might prove difficult to extricate himself from?
I’ll be damned if I ever allow that to happen!
A few minutes after speaking with his father, Graham was in the conservatory, discreetly positioned behind a few large fir trees which had been recently cut to be decorated and placed in the drawing-room, music room, and the entrance to Holliwell Manor. Ever since they had spent Christmas in Germany with one of their uncles, his father had adopted the tradition of decorating such trees in the yuletide season. It had made his mother, who was German very happy, and as a family, they had continued the tradition after she had gone on to her rewards. Graham was closer to the door which opened into the garden, and from his vantage point, he observed the lady who had entered a few minutes ago.
His heart jolted, and a heavy feeling of unexpected disappointment lodged in his gut. It was Miss Callie Middleton, still garbed in the bright pink dress she had worn to dinner, and her hair piled in a riot of becoming curls, with several wisps dancing about her face. She was petite, the top of her head would probably brush his chin. Her skin was pale, her lips lush and sweetly curved, her figure though slender, had more than a handful in all the right places. The lady held a basket in her hand. She rested it on a table which held some freshly cut roses from the hothouse and a pruning shear. She rifled through the contents of the basket, and he arched a brow when she withdrew several sprigs of mistletoe.
Good God. Her intention was very clear. How many ladies had he dodged since his arrival who attempted to use those damnable mistletoe berries to request a kiss or simply boldly to take? Even last night, the squire’s daughter had knocked on his door, and he had hurriedly let her in after hearing footsteps in the hallway. Miss Vinnette Brampton was the sister of his close friend Thomas. Graham had been amused and appalled in equal measure at her surprising brazenness. But in truth, the girl had been suffering from a case of jealousy and heartbreak when the man she loved shifted his attention to another. After drinking several glasses of pilfered sherry and armed with a fistful of mistletoe, Miss Vinnette had planned to soothe her wounded pride with kisses from him!
Even now, the memory of her silliness had a sigh of exasperation escaping from Graham. It was befuddling how everyone seemed to accept that piece of twig was an excuse to throw caution and propriety to the wind. He wasn’t the sort to seduce his friends’ sisters, so after lending a listening ear for several minutes, he’d ensured she reached her room safely.
A sharp grunt snapped his attention to Miss Middleton. She was dragging a wrought iron chair from near the grate to the door. She hopped onto the chair and then took it a step further by balancing on the chair’s armrest. It rocked precariously, and she muttered a word no lady should know before making a soft triumphant sound. She mounted the leaves and berries above the door, and with a wide grin, jumped from the chair. Graham marveled she had not slipped. She looked up at her work and did a happy little twirl.
He was stupidly mesmerized. Perhaps it was the sense of happiness and expectation in the air. She dragged the chair from out of the way, then strolled to the windows with a frown on her pretty face. The lady reached into the deep pockets of her dress and fished out a pocket watch. She leaned forward, almost pressing her nose against the glass. Unexpectedly she lurched upright and to his amazement clapped her hands in evident glee. She rushed toward the door that would lead her to the side gardens. The lock refused to budge, and her expression of excitement slowly turned to annoyance. After childishly kicking the door, she hurried in his direction.
Graham stepped behind one of the fir trees, it barely hid him, and he expected her to see him right away. Instead, when she was almost on top of him, she turned around and slowly peeked around the tree. It seemed the lady, too, was hiding. His curiosity mounted. The door to the conservatory opened and closed softly. Miss Middleton held her breath, impatiently tapping her feet.
“Finally,” she muttered with a happy sigh when another person entered the glasshouse.
He resisted the urge to look at the newcomer, directing his complete regard on Miss Middleton.
“Lord Deerwood…I mean…Robert…I…I hoped it was you!”
There was a rustle of movement.
“Amelia, my dear, how happy I am to see you,” his father said warmly.
Ah…so the lady was the viscountess. The man should be happy, indeed.
“I got your note—”
“I got your note—”
They faltered, and the viscountess laughed a bit shakily. Graham dared to step closer to Miss Middleton so he could see above her head. Lady Danby and his father stood under the arched entrance, facing and gazing at each other. How…utterly besotted they appeared.
“You got my note?” the viscountess squeaked.
“Yes,” his father said with a frown. “Did you not send me this?”
He plucked the note from his pocket and handed it to her. The viscountess laughed. “I got a similar note.”
“Ah…so someone is playing cupid,” his father said tenderly, reaching out and tucking a tendril of the viscountess’s hair behind her ear.
Even from where Graham stood, he could see the flush of pleasure on the lady.
“I am glad they did,” she said, clasping her hand in front of her. “Whoever it is.”
Graham glanced down at Miss Middleton, who seemed inordinately pleased her ruse was working. Except Graham felt as if the viscountess was quite aware of it and was doing a credible job of acting surprised.
“Please see the mistletoe,” Miss Middleton whispered.
The sound o
f his father’s and lady Danby’s voices faded as he stared at the audacious minx before him.
“Oh, Mama, don’t be shy,” she whispered. “This is your chance!”
Anger curled through Graham at the lengths they would go to trap his father. No doubt, his father thought the viscountess sweet and charming, as he had done with the other two charlatans who had only wanted his money. Graham glared at the back of Miss Middleton’s head, despising that many ladies thought only of a man’s wealth and little of his character and his interests. He stepped closer to the deceptive minx. Her fragrance was clean and sweet, the fresh scent of lavender soap and roses. His heart jerked, and something unknown stirred inside him. He bit back a groan and tried to dismiss her from his awareness. It annoyed him greatly that he could be attracted to this deceitful hoyden!
She clapped in evident glee, and he glanced above her head. His father had held out his arm to the viscountess, and she was shyly holding onto his elbow. How demure and ladylike she seemed when she had plotted with her daughter for this outcome! Then as if mischievous fairies worked with Miss Middleton, the sprig of mistletoe she had placed about the door dropped onto his father’s head!
The earl reached for it, appearing bemused. Then he dipped his head and placed a very passionate kiss on the viscountess’s mouth. Miss Middleton gasped and covered her eyes. He stared at her in mute amazement. Blast his father for once again falling under the wiles of ladies who waged campaigns to steal into a man’s life like they were generals on the battlefield. With single-minded concentration and absolute cunning.
“Robert!” the viscountess gasped breathlessly. “I…I…oh dear, this was so unexpected!”
“Oh, Mama, you can do it! You could be his countess if you would only dream a little,” she urged softly.
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 113