Regency Mistletoe & Marriages: A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride
- -
- 100%
- +
‘Oh, I quite agree,’ she said, leaning forward to relieve her aunt of her empty cup and depositing it on the tea tray. ‘But perhaps my employers would prefer me not to be too outspoken,’ she added, handing her a plate of bread and butter.
‘Humph,’ said her aunt, as she took a bite out of her bread.
‘Besides, I might not have been going to say what you thought I meant to say at all. Perhaps,’ she said mischievously, ‘I was only going to remark that a man of his station generally requires…an heir.’
Quick as a flash, her aunt replied, ‘He already has an heir. Lady Craddock’s oldest boy will inherit when he dies.’
‘So that only leaves his proclivities to discuss and disparage.’
‘Helen! How could you?’
‘What? Be so indelicate?’
‘No, make me almost choke on my bread and butter, you wretched girl!’
But her aunt was laughing, her cheeks pink with amusement, her eyes twinkling with mirth. And Helen knew it had been worth ruffling a few feathers in the servants’ hall to see her aunt smiling again. She would do anything for her dear Aunt Bella!
But Aunt Bella had still not got out of bed by the time they heard the faint echoes of the dinner gong sounding in the distance.
‘I am in no fit state to face them,’ she admitted wearily. ‘Just one more evening before I have to humble myself—is that too much to ask?’
Aunt Bella had prided herself on maintaining her independence from her family, in particular her overbearing brothers, for as long as Helen had known her.
‘All these years I have kept on telling everyone that I am quite capable of managing my own affairs,’ she had moaned when the invitation to the Christmas house party had arrived, ‘without the interference of any pompous, opinionated male, and now I am going to have to crawl to Lord Bridgemere himself and beg him for help!’
It was quite enough for today, Helen could see, that she was actually under Lord Bridgemere’s roof. It would be much better to put off laying out her dire situation before the cold and distant Earl until she had recovered from the journey.
‘Of course not!’ said Helen, stacking the empty cups and plates back on the tray. ‘I shall take these back down to the kitchen and arrange for something to be brought up.’
She had already asked the boy who had eventually dumped their luggage in the corridor outside their room if it was possible to have a supper tray brought up. He had shrugged, looking surly, from which she had deduced it would be highly unlikely.
So Helen once more descended to the kitchen, where she was informed by the same kitchen maid she had run up against before that they had enough to do getting a meal on the table without doing extra work for meddling so-and-sos who didn’t know their place. This argument was vociferously seconded by a stout cook.
‘Very well,’ said Helen, her eyes narrowing. ‘I can see you are all far too busy seeing to the guests who are well enough to go to the dining room.’ Once again she grabbed a tray, and began loading it with what she could find lying about, already half-prepared. ‘I shall save you the bother of having to go up all those stairs with a heavy tray,’ she finished acidly.
There were a few murmurs and dirty looks, but nobody actually tried to prevent her.
In the light of this inhospitality, however, she was seriously doubting the wisdom of her aunt’s scheme to apply to the Earl for help in her declining years. She had voiced these doubts previously, but her aunt had only sighed, and said, ‘He is not so lost to a sense of what is due to his family that he would leave an indigent elderly female to starve, Helen.’
But the fact that his staff cared so little about the weak and helpless must reflect his own attitude, Helen worried. Any help he gave to Aunt Bella would be grudging, at best. And her aunt had implied that had it not been Christmas it would have been a waste of time even writing to him!
Thank heaven she had come here with her. She shook her head as she climbed back up the stairs to the tower room, her generous mouth for once turned down at the corners. If she had not been here to wait on her she could just picture her poor aunt lying there, all alone and growing weaker by the hour, as the staff saw to all the grander, wealthier house guests. Helen was supposed to have taken up her governess duties at the beginning of December, but when she had seen how much her aunt was dreading visiting Alvanley Hall, and humbling herself before the head of the family, she had been on the verge of turning down the job altogether. She had longed to find something else nearby, something that would enable her to care for her aunt in her old age as she had cared for Helen as a child, but Aunt Bella had refused to let her.
‘No, Helen, do not be a fool,’ Aunt Bella had said firmly. ‘You must take this job as governess. Even if you do not stay there very long, your employers will be able to provide references which you can use to get something else. You must preserve your independence, Helen. I could not bear it if you had to resort to marrying some odious male!’
In the end Helen had agreed simply to postpone leaving her aunt until after Bridgemere’s Christmas party. After all, she was hardly in a position to turn down the job. It had come as something of a shock to discover just how hard it was for a young lady of good birth to secure paid employment. After all the weeks of scouring the advertisements and writing mostly unanswered applications, the Harcourts had been the only family willing to risk their children to a young woman who had no experience whatsoever.
‘I should think,’ her aunt had then pointed out astutely, ‘that if you were to tell them you mean to spend Christmas in the house of a belted Earl they will be only too glad to give you leave to do so. Think what it will mean to them to be able to boast that their new governess has such connections!’
‘There is that,’ Helen had mused. The Harcourts were newly wealthy, their fortune stemming from industry, and she had already gained the impression that in their eyes her background far outweighed her lack of experience. Mrs Harcourt’s eyes had lit up when Helen had informed her that not only had her mother come from an old and very noble English family, but her father had been a French count.
A virtually penniless French count—which was why her mother’s family, one of whom was married to the younger of Aunt Bella’s horrible brothers, had shown no interest in raising her themselves. But Helen hadn’t felt the need to explain that to Mrs Harcourt, who had indeed proved exceptionally amenable to her new governess attending such an illustrious Christmas party.
That night, though she was more tired than she could ever remember feeling in her whole life, Helen lay in the dark, gnawing on her fingernails, well after her aunt began to snore gently. She did not resent the fact they were having to share a bed yet again. It had been her decision to book only one bed between them on their journey south. It had saved so much money, and given both of them a much needed feeling of security in the strange rooms of the various coaching inns where they had broken their journey. And tonight the room was so cold that it was a blessing to have a body to help her keep warm. Besides, she would not have felt easy leaving Aunt Bella alone for one minute in such an inhospitable place!
If Lord Bridgemere could employ staff who would so casually ignore a guest who was far from well, it did not bode well for her aunt’s future. Not at all. What if, in spite of her assurance that he would not permit a female relative to suffer penury, Lord Bridgemere decided he could not be bothered with her? What would she do? Helen wished with all her heart she was in a position to look after her aunt. But the reality was that there were precious few jobs available to young ladies educated at home—especially educated with the rather eccentric methods her aunt had employed.
Aunt Bella had decried all the received wisdom regarding which subjects were appropriate for a girl to learn. Instead, if Helen had shown an interest in any particular topic she had bought her the relevant books or equipment, and hired people who could help her pursue her interest. So she could not teach pupils watercolour painting, or the use of the globe. And the post she had been able to obtain was so poorly paid she would not be able to survive herself were her meals and board not included.
Not that she minded for herself. She was young and strong and fit. But her aunt’s collapse today had shocked her. She had never thought of Aunt Bella as old and infirm, but the truth was that these last few months had taken their toll. And in a few more years she might well fall foul of some condition which would mean she needed constant care.
If her cousin’s nephew proved as cold-hearted as Aunt Bella had led her to believe, and as the treatment she had received since arriving appeared to confirm…
She rolled over and wrapped her arms about her waist.
Her aunt’s future did not bear thinking about.
Chapter Two
She woke with a jolt the next morning, feeling as though she had not slept for more than a few minutes.
But she must have done, because the fire had gone out and the insides of the lead paned windows were thick with frost feathers.
She got up, wrapped herself in her warmest shawl, raked out the grate and, discovering a few embers still glowing gently, coaxed them into life with some fresh kindling. Then she looked around for the means to wash the soot and ash from her fingers. There was no dressing room adjoining their tiny room, but there was a screen behind which stood a washstand containing a pitcher of ice-cold water and a basin.
Washing in that water certainly woke her up completely!
She did not want her aunt to suffer the same early-morning shock, though, so, having made sure the coals were beginning to burn nicely, she put the fire guard in place and nipped down to the kitchens to fetch a can of hot water.
By the time she returned she was pleased to find that the little room had reached a temperature at which her aunt might get out of bed.
‘You had better make the most of this while the water is still warm,’ she told her sleepy aunt. ‘And then I shall go and forage for some breakfast.’
‘My word, Helen,’ her aunt observed sleepily, ‘nothing daunts you, does it?’
Helen smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Aunt Bella. I try not to let it.’
She had discovered within herself a well of ingenuity over these past months, which she might never have known she possessed had they not been so dramatically plunged from affluence to poverty. Seeing her aunt so upset by their losses, she had vowed to do all she could to shield the older woman from the more beastly aspects of losing their wealth. She had been the one to visit the pawnbrokers, and to haggle with tradespeople for the bread to go on their table. Not that they had been in any immediate danger of starving. So many of the townspeople had banked with the Middleton and Shropshire that a brisk system of bartering had soon come into being, which had done away with the immediate need for cash amongst its former clients. The silver apostle spoons, for instance, had gone to settle an outstanding grocer’s bill, and the best table linen had turned out to be worth a dozen eggs and half a pound of sausages.
Once her aunt had finished her toilet, Helen tipped the wastewater into the enamel jug provided for the purpose and set out for the kitchens once more.
At least this morning there was an orderly queue of maids who had come down to fetch a breakfast tray. She took her place at the back of it, completely content to wait her turn. In fact she thoroughly approved of the way they all got attention on the basis of first come, first served. Regardless of whom they were fetching and carrying for. It was much more fair.
What a pity, she thought, her lips pursing, the same egalitarian system had not prevailed the evening before.
The kitchen maid scowled when it came to her turn.
‘I don’t suppose there are any eggs to be had?’ Helen asked politely.
‘You don’t suppose correct!’ her nemesis answered. ‘You can have a pot of chocolate and hot rolls for your lady. Eggs is only served in the dining room.’
Really, the hospitality in this place was…niggardly, she fumed, bumping open the kitchen door with her hip. But then what had she expected? From the sound of it the Earl of Bridgemere thoroughly disliked having his home invaded by indigent relatives. And his attitude had trickled down to infect his staff, she reflected, setting out once more on the by now familiar route back up to the tower, because their master was a recluse. What kind of man would only open his doors—and that reluctantly—to his family over the Christmas season? An elusive recluse. She smiled to herself, enjoying the play on words and half wondering if there was a rhyme to be made about the crusty old bachelor upon whose whim her aunt’s future depended.
Although what would rhyme with Bridgemere? Nothing.
Earl, though…There was curl, and churl, and…
She had just reached the second set of stairs when round the corner came the broad-shouldered footman who had carried her aunt so effortlessly up to her room the night before.
Instead of stepping to one side, to allow her room to pass, he took up position in the very centre of the corridor, his fisted hands on his hips.
‘I hear you have been setting the kitchen in a bustle,’ he said. ‘I hope you have permission to take that tray, and have not snatched it from its rightful recipient as you did last night?’
‘What business is it of yours?’ she snapped, thoroughly fed up with the attitude of the staff in Alvanley Hall. She knew they were not used to entertaining visitors, but really! ‘And how dare you speak to me like that?’
His light coffee-coloured eyes briefly widened, as though her retort had shocked him. But then he said icily, ‘Mrs Dent is most put out by your behaviour, miss. And I must say that I can quite see why. I do not appreciate servants from other houses coming here and thinking they know how to run things better…’
‘Well, first of all, I am nobody’s servant!’ she snapped. At least not yet, she corrected herself guiltily. ‘And if this place was run better, then I dare say visiting servants would abide by Mrs Dent’s regime. As it is, I deplore the way rank was placed above my aunt’s very real need last night.’
She had really got the bit between her teeth now. She advanced on the footman until she was almost prodding him in the stomach with her tray.
‘If I had not gone down to the kitchens myself, I dare say she would still be lying there, waiting for somebody to notice her! And as for situating a lady of her age up so many stairs—well, the least said about that the better! Whoever arranged to put her up in that room ought to be—’ She could not think of a suitable punishment for anyone who treated her beloved aunt with such lack of consideration. So she had to content herself with taking her temper out on the unfortunate footman, since he was the only member of His Lordship’s staff actually in range.
‘She is supposed to be a family member, yet Lord Bridgemere has had her stashed away up there as though he is ashamed of her! No wonder she has stayed away all these years! Now, get out of my way—before I…before I…’ She barely refrained from stamping her foot.
‘Do you mean to tell me you are a guest?’
Helen could not tell what it was about him that irritated her the most. The fact that he had ignored all her very real complaints to hone in on the one point she considered least relevant, or the way he was running his eyes insolently over her rather shabby attire, his mouth flattened in derision. If she had been less angry she might have admitted that the gown she was wearing was one she had kept precisely because it did make her look more like a servant than a lady of leisure. Her wardrobe would now have to reflect the position she was about to take up. Nobody would take a governess seriously if she went about in fashionable, frivolous clothes. She had ruthlessly culled her wardrobe of such items, knowing, too, that the more fashionable they were, the more money she would get for them from the second-hand clothing dealers. For, although the bartering system had worked up to a point, cash had been absolutely necessary to purchase tickets from their hometown to Alvanley Hall, and to pay for their overnight stops en route.
This morning Helen had also wrapped her thickest shawl round her shoulders, to keep her warm as she scuttled along the chilly corridors. She’d knotted it round her waist just before she’d left the kitchen, to leave her hands free to deal with the tray, and now she noticed that it was blotched with ash from when she had made up the fire.
But it was not this man’s place to judge or criticise her! Helen drew herself to her full height. Which was not easy to do when weighed down by a tray brimming with food, drink and crockery.
‘I mean to tell you nothing! You are an impertinent fellow, and—’
He raised one eyebrow in a way that was so supercilious that if she’d had a hand free she might have been tempted to slap him.
‘And my aunt is waiting for her breakfast! So stand aside!’
For a moment she thought he might refuse. But then something like amusement glinted in his eyes. His mouth tilted up at one corner in a smile full of mockery and he stepped to one side of the corridor, sweeping her an elaborate bow as she strode past with a toss of her head.
Well, really! What an abominable rogue he was! So full of himself!
And she could not believe he had goaded her into almost stamping her foot and actually tossing her head. Tossing her head! Like those village girls who loitered around the smithy in the hopes of glimpsing young Jeb Simpkins stripping off his shirt to duck his head under the pump. Who flounced off with a toss of their artfully arranged curls when he shot them a few pithy comments that left them in no doubt as to what he thought of their morals.
Not that she had been thinking about what the footman would look like with his shirt off!
Although he probably would have an impressive set of muscles, given the way he had so effortlessly carried her aunt up all these stairs last night…
She gave herself a mental shake. His physique had nothing to do with anything! He was a…a rogue! Yes, he was probably the type who snatched kisses from the kitchen maids and had stormy affairs with visiting ladies’ maids, she reflected darkly. Oh, she could well understand why they would elbow each other aside for the privilege of kissing that hard, arrogant mouth, and ruffling that neat light brown hair with their fingers. For he had that air about him she noticed foolish women often fell for. That air of arrogant disdain which drew silly girls like moths to a candle flame. An air she had observed more than once in men who thought themselves irresistible to women, and who therefore mocked the entire female sex for their gullibility.
Well, she was not silly or gullible! And she had never been the type to find a man exciting merely because he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. If she were ever to seriously consider marriage, she would want someone kind and dependable. Not a man who looked down his nose at women! And who was probably planning his next conquest before he had even buttoned up his breeches.
She drew herself up outside the door to her aunt’s chamber, out of breath and more than a little shocked at herself. She could not believe the way her mind had been wandering since that encounter with the footman. Picturing him with his shirt off, for heaven’s sake! Kissing kitchen maids and…and worse! Why, she could actually see the smug expression on his face as he buttoned up his breeches with those long, deft fingers…
It was just as well she was going to be a governess and not a ladies’ maid. She did not know how any girl was expected to cope with encounters with handsome, arrogant footmen as they nipped up and down the backstairs.
A rueful smile tugged at her lips as she turned round and bumped open the door with her hip.
She rather thought that any girl who was the least bit susceptible would start to look forward to running into that particular footman. It had been quite exhilarating to give him a sharp set-down. To knock him off his arrogant perch and make him look at her twice. And if all she had to look forward to was the dreary grind of service, then…
She shook her head.
She was going to work as a governess, for heaven’s sake! Flirting with the footmen on the backstairs was sure to result in instant dismissal.
Besides, the rogue worked here. It was unlikely there would be a man of such mettle working for a family like the Harcourts. Footmen of that calibre would not deign to work for anything less than a noble house. It would be very far beneath such a man’s dignity to serve a family from trade.
Which was a jolly good thing.
She did not set foot outside the drum room for the rest of the day. Her aunt dozed on and off, declaring every time she woke that she felt much better, though to Helen’s eye it did not look as though her spirits were reviving all that much.
Whenever Aunt Bella went back to sleep Helen sat by the window, making use of what pale winter sunlight filtered in through the tiny diamond-shaped panes to do some embroidery. There was little money to spare for Christmas gifts this year, and so she had decided to make her aunt a little keepsake, to remind her of their life together in Middleton whenever she used it. Fortunately needlework had been one of the subjects Helen had wanted to pursue. Largely because her mother had begun to teach her to sew, and her sampler had been one of the very few possessions she had managed to salvage from her childhood home.
She tucked her work hastily out of sight every time Aunt Bella began to stir, and occasionally broke off to watch the comings and goings of the other house guests. From up here in the tower she had an excellent view over the rear of the house, and the acres of grounds in which it was set. A party of gentlemen of varying ages went off in the direction of the woods with guns over their arms. A little later a bevy of females sauntered off towards the formal gardens which surrounded the house.
At one point she saw a group of children bundled up in hats and scarves, loaded up into a cart, and driven off in a different direction entirely from the way their parents had gone, their shouts and laughter inaudible from up here, but made visible by the little puffs of vapour that escaped from their mouths.
It looked as though the house party was now in full swing. She pursed her lips and bent her head over her embroidery. She had to admit that if, as her aunt surmised, all the guests had arrived on the same day, the servants might have some excuse for their attitude. They must have been rushed off their feet yesterday. Yet she could not quite rid herself of a simmering sense of injustice. She had only to look out of the window to see that His Lordship had organised entertainment for all the rest of his guests. Only she and Aunt Bella had been completely overlooked. Stuck up in a cold room in the tower and left to their own devices, she fumed, cutting off her thread with a vicious little snip.
Though later, as they prepared to go downstairs and mingle with the other guests for the first time, Helen knew that she must not let her poor opinion of him and his household show.
‘Time to face the music,’ Aunt Bella sighed, draping a silk shawl round her shoulders. ‘I still do not feel at my best, you know, but I cannot hide up here for ever. Besides, I need to collar Lord Bridgemere’s current secretary and arrange a private interview with him. The others will have already done so, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Because this was the only time of the year he made himself accessible to his relatives, they had to make the most of this brief opportunity to lay their problems before him.