The Earl's Christmas Delivery Page 11

  "What do I do? Should I go after her?"

  "Only if you want to die young. No, this is going to take some extra effort, I'm afraid."

  He dropped his head into his hands, mortified to rehash those careless, stupid words over and over again. No wonder he had avoided this sort of thing all his life. Being in love was a much greater challenge than he'd ever imagined. Being without Miss Meriwether for the rest of his life, however, would be infinitely worse.

  "Tell me what to do," he asked Estelle for the second time today.

  "Dress for dinner. I'll make sure that she's there, though I have no idea how to convince her when the last thing she'll want is to sit at a table with your sort of scoundrel."

  "Tell her I'm sorry! Tell her I did not mean what it very probably sounded like I meant."

  But Estelle held up her hand and shushed him. "Just be on time for dinner. And keep that parcel I gave you nearby."

  He agreed and understood he was being dismissed. Damn, but it was demoralizing, being so vulgarly misunderstood by his dearly intended, and then being scolded like a wayward child by his own sister. What further misery must he endure on this endless journey to bliss?

  "Oh, and one other thing," Estelle called just before he left the nursery. "Be on your best behavior tonight. Mother is here."

  Mother? By hellfires. Now his wretchedness was complete.

  Chapter 11

  Carole had done her best to cry headache, but Estelle would have none of it. She'd seen Carole feeling perfectly fine in the nursery and refused to believe she'd taken ill so quickly. Of course, she'd not seen the interchange with the earl, or else she would have understood.

  But Carole could hardly tell her about that. Gracious, she was a guest here! The earl was Estelle's brother. She would certainly not want to hear that he was a bounder and a defiler of women. Heavens, she might not even believe it, and then where would Carole be? She'd be thought a schemer herself.

  It seemed there was nothing to do but show up at dinner. And so she did, where she was promptly presented to none other than Estelle's mother, the Countess of Bahumburgh. She did her best to recall all the things she'd learned at Mrs. Plimple's School for Young Ladies, but still she felt painfully inadequate to be presented to such a fine lady.

  It didn't help at all that the fine lady raised a spectacle to her eye and studied Carole as if she were considering purchasing her as decoration for one of her drawing rooms. Heavens, but it was unnerving. Lady Bahumburgh was not a large woman, but her presence filled the house, just the same. When Carole was seated next to her at dinner she found it nearly impossible to eat anything, feeling the woman's eye always on her, critiquing her every movement.

  That gave her two sets of eyes to avoid over her meal. The earl was seated across from her, beside his sister. He looked every bit the formidable nobleman in his coat of superfine and his starched neck cloth. With all the elegance around her, Carole felt hopelessly out of place. Estelle had graciously loaned her a lovely blue gown to wear while her only other presentable gown was being laundered, but still she felt every bit the poor relation.

  Her ladyship must have noticed this, too, as she made it a point to comment on the borrowed gown Carole wore.

  "Estelle, don't you find Miss Meriwether's gown a particularly charming shade of blue?" she asked over the soup. "It puts me in mind of a gown you wore two seasons ago."

  "Yes, Mother," Estelle replied. "It is very much like that gown, isn't it?" She gave Carole a private little grin.

  "Well, I say it is a good color for you, Miss Meriwether," the countess declared. "Though I daresay you could also wear green to good effect, and not every young lady can, you know. It is because of your eyes, I think. Yes. You have quite lovely eyes."

  "Perhaps Miss Meriwether will wear her green gown tomorrow, Mother," Estelle said with another sly smile at Carole. "It is very like the green gown I wore for little Charlie's christening."

  Carole cringed inwardly. Perhaps Estelle thought it great fun to pass off her old clothes as her visitor's wardrobe, but it merely served to make Carole more conscious of her sad state. How had she thought she could just take up her old life as if nothing had happened? This was not her life and these were not her people. Not anymore. Her nerves were clearly not up to this and she struggled to swallow even the smallest mouthful of the otherwise wonderful soup.

  "I'm sure Miss Meriwether could dress herself in a horse rug and still look remarkable," the earl said from across the table.

  This time Carole was sure she cringed outwardly. How could he do this to her? First he invited her to become his ladybird, and now he was reminding her—in front of his mother!—that she'd spent the last night with him under those stable blankets! He was either very cruel, or completely dense to think this manner of seduction might work for her.

  "Ladies don't wear horse rugs," the countess said, shaking her head in dismay. "What a non-sensible thing to say to her. Honestly, have you not seen enough well-dressed young ladies in all your years as a bachelor that you should think such a thing?"

  "I merely meant to point out that Miss Meriwether does not need excessive finery to look quite well, Mother," he explained, or at least tried to.

  But Carole was not buying it, and neither was the countess. She clucked her tongue and wagged her spoon at him.

  "A gentleman never compliments a lady by comparing her to a horse. Ever. Remember that, Bahumburgh."

  "I will, Mother."

  "I should hope so. It's no wonder you've not found yourself a wife, though heaven knows you've had enough pretty things thrown at you. Why look at this, here we are at a quiet dinner party with a perfectly lovely young lady, and you go and tell her she dresses like a barn animal."

  "I did not mean to imply she dresses like a barn animal, Mother. Miss Meriwether is quite attractive, in fact. Why, she could snag any gentleman she wanted and not have to be dressed up in anything."

  Carole dropped her spoon, Estelle laughed out loud, Mr. Bexley snorted, and the countess gasped audibly.

  "That's not what I meant to say," the earl grumbled, going back to his soup.

  "Of course not," Estelle said, directing the servants to bring on the next course and give them all time to compose themselves after that. "Anyone for some goose?"

  Carole silently vowed to thank her friend later. Estelle deftly redirected the topic and for several blessed minutes conversation left off Carole's clothing—or lack thereof—and moved on to the food, then shifted to discussion of Mr. Bexley's condition. Carole had to admit, the man seemed remarkably well for someone so recently at death's very door. Save the cane he had used when they'd walked from the drawing room into the dining hall, she would have easily thought him quite well indeed.

  "Indeed, it is remarkable how swiftly my Bexley has recovered himself," Estelle said when her brother commented on the man's apparent well-being.

  Carole did not overlook that the man in question gave his wife a cryptic scowl as he carved up their goose.

  "Yes, isn't it?" he replied. "It's quite like a miracle."

  "How could I have not known of his desperate condition?" the countess complained. "I've been in this home for three days now and heard nothing of it."

  "Er, we didn't wish to worry you, Mother," Estelle said.

  "Perhaps his recovery is due in some part to the poultice we brought from the inn keeper in Newchild-on-Bourne?" the earl suggested.

  Estelle brightened instantly at that notion. "Yes, I'm sure it is that! What a wonder it is."

  Mr. Bexley chuckled under his breath. "It is a wonder. I wonder how it worked so well when I haven't yet used it."

  Estelle jabbed her husband with her elbow. Carole caught all the interplay and was confused by it, so much that she accidentally forgot to avoid the earl and glanced up at him, catching his eye. He smiled so warmly at her, with so much intimacy and familiarity, that she felt her cheeks go hot and she dropped her spoon again.

  "Now, wife," Mr. Bexley said,
rebuffing her jabs. "Their heads aren't full of cotton. They can obviously see that you may have exaggerated a bit regarding my condition."

  "What's this?" the earl asked. "Estelle misled us? But her letters indicated you were but a shell of yourself, Bexley."

  It was obvious, even to Carole who'd never once met the man, that he was far from the invalid Estelle had made him out to be. From the sheepish expression on Estelle's face, her misinformation had been intentional. Her mother frowned at her.

  "Is this true, Estelle? What did you tell people?"

  "Well, I was afraid they wouldn't come. Miss Meriwether might think I did not truly have need of her, and Miser... well, he never will come when I invite him, so I decided to invent an emergency."

  "You told them Mr. Bexley was not recovered from his injury?" The countess was clearly shocked.

  "Yes, I did. But aren't you glad, Mother? Just look, we have my dear friend Miss Meriwether here, and even my brother. Isn't it worth just a tiny white lie if it accomplished so much?"

  "I must admit, I am happy to have Bahumburgh here," the countess smiled at her son, then turned the same warm smile onto Carole. "And I'm so pleased to meet Miss Meriwether. I say, Bahumburgh, you've already noted the girl is quite pretty. By heavens, it's about time you let some proper lady catch your attention."

  "Don't pester him, Mother. He's a lost cause," Estelle said. "I've plenty of other young men I plan to introduce to Miss Meriwether during her stay."

  Carole thought now would be a very good time to find herself under that piano-forte.

  "Well, I should say they will all be quite taken with her," the countess said. "Don't you agree, Bahumburgh? Miss Meriwether will find herself with numerous suitors once Estelle takes her into society."

  The earl growled something that sounded oddly violent, but Carole wasn't sure that she'd heard properly. All the talk of suitors and society had rather made her ears ring and her head begin pounding. Estelle couldn't be serious, could she? Of course Carole looked forward to perhaps meeting Estelle's neighbors, but what these ladies were talking of now sounded very different from that.

  "In the Spring we'll go to London," Estelle said with excitement. "Little Charlie is old enough to travel now and I'm eager to be back in Town for the Season. Miss Meriwether will have a delightful time attending balls and going to routes every evening with me."

  "The Season?" Carole gulped. "Heavens, but I did not bring proper attire for a Season in London!"

  "No worry," Estelle said flippantly. "We have plenty of time to order you a full rainbow of beautiful ball gowns. Mr. Bexley is most generous with my clothing allowance."

  "Oh, but I couldn't possibly impose on you in that way," Carole stammered.

  "It's no imposition. You'd be doing me a favor," Mr. Bexley said, taking another helping from the platter of fish. "A few extra dresses is nothing if it gives Mrs. Bexley someone other than me to natter at for these infernal events."

  "Exactly," Estelle chimed. "I have missed my dear friend exceedingly and we've much to natter on about. I was just thinking the other day, how Miss Meriwether always had the best stories to tell. Do you remember that, Miss Meriwether? We would sit in our room and you would tell us of the wonderful tales your father brought home from his travels."

  Indeed, Carole remembered. As her father's finances began to show some decline, he began making investments with a friend in the merchant trade. Mamma always worried that Papa was getting dangerously close to being in trade himself, yet he assured them that his travels were quite gentlemanly endeavors. Looking back, Carole realized now it was nothing of the sort. Papa had been forced to try and regain some of his lost funds through actual work.

  For a couple years it seemed to help. He traveling allowed him to oversee the expansion of a merchant line one of his friends sponsored. They thought things were getting better. Then a ship was lost and Papa discovered his friend had not insured their merchandise. Papa's investment was lost and there was no stopping their slide into desperation. Mamma's illness followed closely on the heels of that and from there on, Carole's life had been very different from her carefree days at Mrs. Plimple's School with her friends.

  "And what was that one story you told us?" Estelle continued on, oblivious to the bittersweet memories her words were dredging up. "Remember the story of that gift your father presented your mother when he wanted to convince her to marry him? Oh, but you showed us all that beautiful little box one year and we were all so very jealous."

  "A beautiful little box?" the countess asked, intrigued. "That sounds very interesting."

  "It is! Oh, you should hear Carole describe it."

  By the countess's expectant gaze Carole realized there was no way to avoid this topic of conversation, though she'd give almost anything if she could. Perhaps they could just get through this quickly. If she could get through it at all.

  "Yes, it was a small golden box," she replied, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "A very pretty thing. It was my mother's and I had always admired it, even as a small child. My first year at school I begged my mother to let me keep it with me so I could remember her, but I suppose really I just wanted to show it off to the other girls. She didn't let me, of course. It was too precious to her."

  "Because it was a gift from your father. Such a tender, romantic story."

  "Yes, my mother was apparently not as immediately sure of my father as he was of her. He tried all manner of flattery to win her, but it wasn't until he gave her that gold box that she relented. Oh, but not because she was greedy or vain, but because of what was inside the box."

  "And what was inside the box?" the countess asked.

  "A rose. A single, perfectly open bloom taken from a bush they had seen when visiting Vauxhall Gardens one day. My mother had loved it, so my father went back there without her and stole a bloom. He told her he would steal her heart if she would let him, which obviously she did."

  "Isn't that a delightful story? Such romance," Estelle said, touching her chest with a sigh. "And then they married and were happy together ever after."

  Carole blinked back threatening tears. Estelle was nearly correct, but it had not exactly been ever after. Mamma's death had interrupted their lovely story. It was a sad ending to a beautiful beginning, but Carole forced herself to recall the good times and be thankful for them.

  "When I was born a year later," she continued, finding that she did, indeed, love going back to this beautiful memory, though it took a toll on her composure. "Papa commissioned a more permanent rose to be made. It was painted to look just like the real one and installed inside the lid of the box. Mamma cherished it always."

  There. The story had been told and Carole survived. Now perhaps she could eat her meal in peace. If Estelle would only allow this subject to drop.

  But she didn't. "When your mother came to visit you at our school, she brought the box with her. That's how I came to know of it. I'm sure we begged you to tell us that story every year until we left school. What girl wouldn't love to be courted by a gentleman who might give her so thoughtful a gift?"

  "I daresay I've given you any number of excellent gifts!" Mr. Bexley injected.

  "Of course you have, dearest," Estelle replied. "But now we must find Miss Meriwether someone who'll do the same for her."

  Carole stared nervously at her plate. The conversation went from one uncomfortable topic to the next, didn't it? She could nearly feel the masculine rolling of eyes around her and prayed for the meal to end quickly.

  "That's why you must go to London with me," Estelle said, leaning toward her with a an eager gleam in her eyes. "We'll have lovely fun. Oh, and Miss Meriwether, you will meet Mr. Bexley's cousin, the Marquis of Norchester. His mother told Bexley's mother that she's certain he'll be seeking a bride this next Season."

  "Norchester's a popinjay with a penchant for gambling," the earl grumbled.

  "You're just jealous because he usually wins. I think Miss Meriwether might be quite perfect for L
ord Norchester," Estelle said with a smug wink. "What do you think, Bexley?"

  "He's a fine enough fellow, I suppose. Plenty of blunt to keep her in nice things."

  "If he doesn't lose it all gambling," the earl added.

  Estelle ignored her brother and plowed merrily on in this mortifying matter.

  "Then of course there's Lord Crawford, and Lord Harrington. She'll have to meet them, too. And Sir Peterley... oh yes, he's enormously witty, with a face like Adonis."

  The earl apparently did not like any of those suggestions. "Why not simply put her up in front of the whole House of Lords and have her just take her pick?"

  "That's a terrible idea," Estelle said, not nearly as enthusiastically as Carole would have expressed those same words. "Half of those men are a thousand years old, and most of them are already married."

  "Just as well. You're not about to push Miss Meriwether off on any of them anyway."

  "I might do exactly that," Estelle said defiantly. "Unless, my dear brother, you know of some reason I should not?"

  Oh heavens, what a question! Of course Estelle was just teasing her brother, but Carole knew only too well that the earl had good reason to object to any of his peers marrying someone like her. Of all the men on the planet, he was the one who knew intimately just how easily she gave in to temptation. Her face burned and she wished she could crawl under the table.

  The earl's face, too, had gone rather red. He seemed to have forgotten his sister was teasing. He glared angrily at her and Carole could see his knuckles go white as he clenched fists around his silverware.

  "We should drop this subject immediately," he ordered in a voice so low it was nearly a rumble.

  The countess interrupted her adult children, shaking her head and tsking at them. "Honestly, Bahumburgh, why on earth are you so surly tonight?"

  "I have my reasons," he replied.

  Yes, he did, didn't he? He was furious that his sister was considering making a match for Carole with one of his peers. He knew she was horribly unworthy and if Estelle pushed this, he'd no doubt feel compelled to tell her exactly what had gone on during their long journey to Wiltshire No one would bat an eye at the earl's participation in stolen kisses and that nighttime embrace, but Carole would be tainted forever.