A Countess by Christmas (15 page)

‘I could not possibly marry
some man
just so that I might have somebody to keep me in suffocating
indolence,’ she spat. ‘I could have been married by now, you know, without a dowry. There were men in Middleton who were quite keen,’ she declared defiantly.
He
might not find her attractive, but others had.

‘Even after we lost all our money, if I had given certain gentlemen a little encouragement, they would have been only too happy to take me into their homes and smother me with their generosity.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘But I was too proud, I suppose
you
would say, to sell myself to some tradesman with greasy skin and hairy knuckles.’ She shuddered.

And then, of their own volition, her eyes strayed to his hands. His nails were neatly manicured, his fingers long and lean. She knew there was strength in those hands. He had held her by the shoulders, shaken her in anger.

Held her to his heart and briefly made her feel as though there was nowhere on earth she would rather be…

She tore her eyes from their greedy perusal of his hands, forcing herself to look him in the face even though she feared he would be able to see exactly what was in her heart. What did it matter now? He clearly felt nothing for her beyond a mild sort of admiration of her character. Else he would not have just offered her a dowry so she could go out and find some other man to marry.

‘In short, sir, the only reason I would ever marry would be for love. I have absorbed my aunt’s belief in independence too much to even consider marrying some man so that he might support me. I would rather provide for myself.’

She flushed and hung her head. She could not maintain eye contact with Lord Bridgemere whilst speaking of love. She was more than halfway to that state with him, she thought, and it felt unbearably humiliating to know he did not return her feelings.

‘I see.’ His voice sounded particularly hard. ‘Then there is no more to be said.’

Why did she always have to fling his offers of help back in his face with such vehemence? It made no difference that she was correct—that it would be improper of her to accept money or indeed any substantial gift from a man who was not related to her. He wanted to help her, dammit! He could tear his hair out with frustration at knowing there was nothing he could do for the most deserving case he had encountered this year. What was the point of having so much wealth if he could not use it to benefit someone he actually
wanted
to help? Not because he felt it was his duty, but because…well, because he just wanted to!

And all she could do was stand there, her eyes flashing angrily, telling him she did not need him at all. She could manage quite well on her own, thank you very much!

He had turned and walked halfway down the corridor before Helen remembered she still had to ask him about transport to her new home.

‘Wait!’ she cried.

He turned, reluctantly, and looked back at her with barely concealed impatience. ‘I
do
need to speak with you,’ she said. ‘I have something to ask of you.’

‘What? You?’ He laughed mockingly. ‘The proud,
independent woman who wants nothing from any man. Least of all me!’

Her eyes widened in shock and he realised he had been unnecessarily curt with her. He held up his hand and continued on his way.

‘Not now, Miss Forrest,’ he said, shaking his head. He was not completely in control of his emotions. What he ought to have said was,
yes, Miss Forrest, ask me anything and I shall give it to you.
But she had got him so riled up that he no longer knew what he was saying.

‘Oh, but it will not take a minute—’

‘I said not now!’ he snapped. ‘Speak to Cadwallader.’ He sighed, running his hand over his head wearily. ‘He arranges all my appointments. I will hear your petition,’ he said coldly, ‘when it is more convenient to me.’ When he had regained some vestige of self-control.

Helen frowned at his retreating back, wondering how it was possible to feel so much admiration for a man who was so difficult to understand. Whose moods could change so abruptly.

She sighed and turned back towards the schoolroom.

It hardly mattered anyway. She would be gone from here in just a few more days. And their paths would never cross again. Gradually, without the stimulus of his presence, these turbulent feelings he stirred up would wither away. Until he became nothing more than a distant memory.

The prospect of becoming a governess had never seemed more dreadful.

L
ord Bridgemere had organised Christmas Eve so that it would be one continuous round of pleasure for his guests.

Helen started her day by clambering into the cart that conveyed the nursery party into a section of the woods where evergreens were predominant. The children were still rushing about excitedly when Lord Bridgemere himself appeared on horseback, followed by a small party comprised of the younger, unmarried ladies and gentlemen, resplendent in highly fashionable riding habits.

Lady Thrapston’s daughter Augustine, who looked as though she was not long out of the schoolroom herself, looked rather wistfully at the children playing tag amongst the trees. Then she darted a furtive look at her companions, as though checking to see if anyone had caught her out, and adopted the same air of languid boredom worn by the other members of the riding party.

Making Helen feel sorry for her.

She was just thinking what a shame it was that Lady
Augustine no longer felt free to be herself now that she wasn’t a child, when she caught Lord Bridgemere smiling sadly at his niece. And she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. When he turned slightly, and their eyes met, it was as though they were of completely one mind. Though they were yards apart, she felt as though they were connected intimately by sharing one and the same thought.

She felt quite a wrench when he looked away.

‘I need some of you older boys for a special task,’ he said, leaning his forearm across the pommel of his saddle. ‘Any volunteers?’

Charles and Peter’s hands shot up.

He looked them over critically for a few seconds, before nodding solemnly and saying, ‘You will follow me to a copse where I have discovered a holly tree with the biggest, reddest berries you have ever seen.’

‘I have found something even better,’ Swaledale informed the girls in his party, with a suggestive waggle of his eye brows. ‘Mistletoe.’

Helen could not help casting them a withering look as they rode off after him, giggling and blushing. They would not be so keen on gathering mistletoe with him if they knew how disgusting he could be!

Once more she found Lord Bridgemere watching her when she glanced in his direction, only this time, since her mind was on that encounter on the backstairs, she felt her cheeks heat, and it was she who looked away first.

She heard his horse champ at the bit as he tugged on the reins, wheeling the creature round, and once the boys had darted off after him she permitted herself the luxury
of watching him riding away into the forest. Charles and Peter were puffed up with pride at being handpicked for a task which was too difficult for the very little ones. They looked adorable as they trotted off behind him. It was such a pity their parents were not here to see this.

But then there was no reason, really, why their parents should not see this if they wanted to. She sighed and went back to the main group of children, who were pointing out likely-looking branches of fir to the bevy of gardeners who were in charge of the pruning hooks. She knew that there were other entertainments designed for those who preferred to remain within doors, but she could not understand why some of them at least had not come to witness this. What could be more enjoyable than watching their children’s happy little faces and sharing in their delight at the magic of Christmas time?

The trouble with this house party was that children were either woefully neglected by parents who regarded them as just one more problem they wished they did not have, or, worse, as in the case of Lord Bridgemere’s family, moved about like pawns in the complex power struggle that was raging between the various sets of adult siblings.

Every time the adults came together at mealtimes, or in the withdrawing room afterwards, it turned into yet another skirmish. Lady Thrapston, Helen suddenly realised, was fighting a desperate rearguard action in wearing all that jewellery and flaunting her status by lording it over the foot of the dining table. And whenever Nicholas Swaledale walked into a room, or contributed to the conversation, his mother Lady Craddock was able to shoot her sister a look of spiteful triumph. Though she
had only married a baron, and not a very wealthy one at that, she
had
managed to produce two sons, whereas Lady Thrapston had only girls. Poor little Junia was the ultimate disappointment to her mother.

It made Helen’s blood boil.

Even more determined that these children should have at least some happy memories of their childhood to look back upon, she flung herself into the task of making the gathering of the greenery as much fun for them as she possibly could.

A brace of footmen, who had travelled to the site in a second cart, loaded the fragrant boughs and the long swathes of ivy they’d pointed out, into a farm wagon. Occasionally members of Lord Bridgemere’s riding party returned, with the much prized holly and mistletoe, and soon the cart was piled high with a wonderful assortment of glossy green leaves, bright waxy berries and bristling bluey-green fronds.

In what felt like no time at all they were climbing back into the cart for their homeward journey, the children bubbling over with satisfaction at a job well done.

The riding party followed behind the convoy of open carts, but to her surprise Lord Bridgemere drew up alongside the one that contained the children, just as Reverend Mullen produced a tin whistle from his pocket and began to play Christmas carols. Lord Bridgemere sang out in a fine baritone, the servants in the cart that followed joined in, and then so did the children, with as many of the words as they could remember.

It was an episode Helen knew she would remember for the rest of her life, coming home from gathering in the greenery, with Lord Bridgemere riding alongside.
His powerful voice rose effortlessly above that of the servants following behind, soaring up through the branches even as it reached into the very depths of her being. It put her in mind of the way she had felt that morning when he had taken her to the frost-spangled clearing. There was something about singing hymns outdoors, in nature’s own temple, that was particularly moving, she thought. She had certainly never had tears in her eyes when she had sung any of these carols before.

Surreptitiously, because she felt a little foolish, she dabbed away at her tears with the end of her scarf, lifted her chin, and forced a smile to her lips. She kept it fixed there, resolutely, when they returned to the stableyard. Lord Bridgemere dismounted, while she accepted Reverend Mullen’s hand to help her out of the cart.

Lord Bridgemere hustled his own party towards the house, while she kept the children together and herded them towards the back door that led through the servants’ hall and thence to the stairs up to the nursery wing. He paused in the doorway, watching the children swarming into the house, before giving her an impenetrable look and following his own party indoors.

When they reached the nursery Helen saw that Lord Bridgemere had arranged yet another treat for the youngsters. Not only were a couple of maids waiting, with jugs of steaming hot chocolate and plates of those delectable ginger snaps, but there were several bowls of chestnuts for them to roast over the schoolroom’s open fire.

She put Junia, Peter and Charles in charge of roasting the nuts and handing them out to the younger ones. When she knelt on the hearthrug, a little distance away, to make sure there were no burnt fingers or, heaven
forbid, singed clothing, a couple of those still in leading strings escaped from their nurses and came to sit on her lap.

It was not long before the warmth of the fire after their outing, coupled with all that hot chocolate and all those biscuits, made them drowsy. Their nurses returned to take them from her and put them down for a nap, and gradually a contented hush settled over the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire or a murmured comment from one of the older children, who were now sprawled on their tummies, imagining, Helen surmised from their rapt expressions, dragons, volcanoes, or firework displays amongst the glowing coals.

She had a feeling that Lord Bridgemere would have enjoyed being up here, witnessing this moment of utter peace and harmony, far more than being in the rather contentious atmosphere that would surely be prevailing downstairs.

As her thoughts inevitably turned to him, the remembrance of their last encounter up here, just outside the nursery door, shattered her whimsical mood. Even though she felt as though she was beginning to understand something of his views, he most certainly did not feel the same burning, physical ache for her that she felt for him. Or he would not have offered her a dowry to marry some other man. The fact that he had immediately thought of a financial solution to her problems showed that he did not really separate her in his mind from any of his other guests. Who were his family, after all.

And she was not even that.

She was up here practising being a governess. Thanks to Lord Bridgemere, she had grown more confident that
she would be able to cope within the sphere of her new life. She had grown fond of these children, and fiercely protective of them, in the short time she had become part of their world.

But it was not her world. And Lord Bridgemere’s offer to pay her off showed her that she did not have so much as a toehold in it.

There was to be dancing after an early dinner that evening, in honour of the day. She was sure most of the other ladies would spend the entire afternoon beautifying themselves. But—she smiled wryly to herself—
she
would much rather be doing something useful than wasting hours in front of a mirror. She would have quite enjoyed joining the team who would be making the greenery up into garlands and wreaths, and helping Mrs Dent decorate the ballroom. But on the whole she thought she would get most pleasure from just staying up here with the children. They would be rehearsing their play again later, and she wanted to be on hand to put finishing touches to their costumes. And just be there, to support them as they got to grips with their parts. Junia was word-perfect already, but Charles, who was playing Gabriel, was still nervous enough to need all the encouragement he could get.

It took her, just as she had suspected, less than an hour to wash and change into her best gown, brush her hair and pin it up in the simple style she had perfected when they’d had to dismiss their maid. All she had to do then was fasten her mother’s amber beads around her neck, drape her evening shawl over her elbows, and she was as ready as she would ever be.

Which was not all
that
ready, she reflected upon entering the blue saloon. Everywhere she looked there were crisp ringlets, sumptuous satins and glittering jewels, casting her own plain bronze gown and simple string of beads into the shade. Making her even more aware that she did not belong here.

But it struck her, once they had all sat down to dine, that the amount of personal wealth on display had not brought any one of these people happiness. All round the table she could see one discontented face after another. Most of them never seemed to stop grumbling. It was as though whatever they had was never quite enough to satisfy them.

And the battle which raged between Lady Thrapston and her sister Lady Craddock created a maelstrom of tensions. Maintaining neutrality was hard, but since both ladies were influential in their own ways, risking making either of them an enemy by openly befriending the other made it by far the safest course to steer.

And that was quite apart from the rift that existed between Aunt Bella and her brother General Forrest, which had created still more eddies.

After dinner everyone went to the ballroom, which had been opened up and decorated for the occasion. It really looked magnificent, Helen mused. The floor had been polished to a high sheen, and every chandelier and wall sconce was festooned with ivy, while garlands of pine and fir had been draped over picture frames and mantelpieces. The staff must have worked really hard to achieve so much in such a short space of time. Particularly since there was to be a sumptuous supper later, to round off the evening.

The orchestra which had been hired for the event was still tuning up when Helen walked in. After swiftly examining the seating arrangements, she and her aunt went and took seats in a quiet corner, rather than on the front row of chairs which ringed the dance floor. She did not expect anyone would ask her to dance. The other guests either regarded her as one of the serving classes or somebody’s love child. Lady Thrapston, she suspected, given the way she studiously looked straight through her as she glided past, thought she ought not to be there at all.

Well, she was not going to stay for very long. Her aunt would probably move into the card room with Lady Norton as soon as they had watched the opening few sets, and when they made their move she would get to her feet too, say she was tired after the exertions of the day, and claim she needed an early night. There was no way she was going to sit here like a wallflower, watching other, more socially acceptable ladies dance!

The first set was drawing to a close, and her aunt and Lady Norton were shifting in their seats, plucking at their shawls and generally getting ready to leave the dancing for the younger ones, when to Helen’s surprise Lord Bridgemere threaded his way through the chairs until he came to a halt right in front of her.

‘The next dance,’ he said without preamble, ‘is to be a waltz. Do you know the steps?’

‘I…I do,’ she stuttered, her heart bouncing around inside her chest at the possibility he might be going to invite her to dance.

For a moment she wondered if he regretted whatever impulse had brought him over, as he just stood there,
gazing down at her with a slight frown on his brow. But then he seemed to make up his mind. He held out his hand, and said, somewhat impatiently, ‘Come on, then!’

Both her aunt and Lady Norton dropped straight back down into their seats when she rose and followed him onto the dance floor. Though they could hardly be more surprised than she was!

Or anyone else.

She was very conscious of the hush that fell over the assembled guests as they stood in the very centre of the dance floor, waiting for the music to begin. She was convinced that everyone must be watching her with disapproval, though how they thought she had managed to get Lord Bridgemere to invite her to waltz with him was beyond her!