A Countess by Christmas (16 page)

But she was blowed if she was going to let anyone, or anything, spoil this moment. Resolutely lifting her chin, she looked up into his face, willing the rest of the room to the edges of her notice.

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he saw what she was doing.

‘That’s it, Miss Forrest,’ he said, very softly. ‘Look at me, not at them.’

And, as if holding her to the challenge, he kept his own eyes fixed upon hers as the music began and he guided her into a set of basic steps.

She had never danced the waltz whilst looking deep into her partner’s eyes before. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. He filled her consciousness to the exclusion of almost everything else. The music seemed to come from very far away. It was the subtle direction of
his hands, the angle of his body, that guided her through the figures of the dance. Once he had ascertained the level of her skill he began to introduce ever more complicated figures, smiling at her every time she rose to the occasion. It was exhilarating to find they were so perfectly matched. Before long she could anticipate his next move, so that she felt as though he was not leading her and she following, but that they were moving as one.

By the time the dance ended there were several other couples on the floor, though she had not noticed them joining in. She had been aware of nothing but the feel of his hand at her waist, the scent of his cologne filling her nostrils, and the steady regard of his eyes, holding her to him with a power that felt stronger than bands of steel.

Lord, she would remember this night, this magical waltz, for the rest of her life! This whole day, in fact, would have a special place in her memory. For he had been at the centre of everything. Even when he had not been in the room with her she had felt his influence holding sway over all her pleasures.

She moved away from him with reluctance when he stood still, removed his hand from her waist, and bowed to her. The music had ended, she realised, and with it the magic. He turned to lead her back to her seat, breaking the eye contact which had held her in thrall throughout the waltz.

And then he brought her right back down to earth with a bump by saying, ‘I have made it a tradition to answer the petitions of my family by means of a note which they receive at the breakfast table on Christmas
morning. But in your case, since I do not yet know what you want of me, I have requested that Cadwallader free up a quarter of an hour
after
breakfast tomorrow. I hope that will be convenient?’

Her heart abruptly plunged. The interview would truly mark the end of her time here. While she was helping with the children, or dancing in his arms, she could make herself forget for just a few moments that she did not truly belong here. That their time together was only temporary.

‘Of course,’ she replied, dropping like a stone onto her chair.

‘Until tomorrow, then,’ he said, and strolled away without a backward look.

Her aunt laid a hand on her sleeve and whispered, ‘Well, that was a surprise. You should have seen the look on Lady Thrapston’s face! The only person who looked more affronted was Lady Craddock!’

‘You have set the cat among the pigeons, Miss Forrest,’ said Lady Norton with glee from behind her fluttering fan.

Her suggestive smile made Helen feel horribly exposed. Did everyone here know she was completely infatuated with a man beyond her reach? What a fool she must look!

‘Oh, no, I am sure it was just a duty dance,’ Helen replied hastily. ‘He is the sort of man who would take pity on any unattached female who is not likely to have many partners. Even one who is destined to become a governess.’

‘Oh,’ said her aunt, her puzzled expression clearing. ‘Yes, I expect that must be it. In which case, since you
will not be needing me to act as chaperon—’ she cast a quelling look at Lady Norton ‘—I shall be off to the card room. Will you come too?’

‘No, thank you,’ Helen said, drawing on the ready-made excuse she had prepared. ‘I was up very early this morning…’

It was more important than ever that she escape to her room. Waltzing with Lord Bridgemere had been delightful, but it must only have confirmed to the onlookers what they had already suspected.

She could not face anyone now! She wanted to slip away and go over every second of that dance—commit it all to memory, so that she could take it out and reexamine it at her leisure in years to come.

She gave her aunt a swift peck on the cheek, and quietly slipped away to the exit.

But Lady Thrapston had somehow managed to guess what she meant to do. When Helen left the ballroom, she was waiting for her in the corridor.

Laying her fan on Helen’s forearm, she said, ‘I warned you about making up to my brother. But I can see you have not paid any heed. Every person watching that dance must have seen that you have so far forgotten your station you have fallen headlong in love with him!’

‘Unfortunately, my lady,’ Helen said sadly, ‘my heart does not seem to have heeded the warning either you or I have tried to give it.’ She knew her case was hopeless. He could not feel much for her if he was prepared to pay some other man to marry her—which was what his offer of a dowry amounted to.

‘Then I pity you,’ said Lady Thrapston coldly. ‘For he will break it.’

‘Oh,’ said Helen with a wry smile, ‘you do not need to tell me that he is impervious to me as a woman…’

‘Far from it,’ said Lady Thrapston, with a shake of her head. ‘If I thought that, I would not have taken the trouble to try and warn you. It is my belief that he is, in his own way, quite taken with you. He has singled you out for the sort of attention he has not granted another woman for years.’

Had he? Helen’s heart, which had been so heavy ever since he had told her she ought to marry
some other man
promptly soared. And with it her self-esteem. She had
not
misinterpreted the heat she had sometimes thought she saw in his eyes. Especially just now, on the dance floor.

‘And if you continue to encourage him, you might even persuade him into indulging in an affair. I dare say,’ Lady Thrapston said with a contemptuous sniff, ‘he is ripe for one!’

Helen’s hopes plunged back down to earth. An affair. That was all a girl like her was good for. She had suspected the same thing herself at one point, before she had begun to think he did not reciprocate the physical attraction she felt for him at all.

‘But I do not think you are the kind of girl who would survive such an encounter. So I urge you to beware. For you will not succeed in dragging a proposal from him, no matter what you do!’

No, a man who had any honourable intentions towards a woman could not possibly offer to sell her on to another man.

Lady Thrapston went on. ‘Believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to see him married again and
setting up his nursery. And to that end I have introduced a succession of gels to him who are far prettier and much more suitable than you—without success. Of late I have come to the sorry conclusion that his heart is buried in the grave with Lucinda.’

‘L…Lucinda? Who is…was she?’

‘His wife.’

The words sank into her brain like a stone dropped into a pond, sending ripples of shock vibrating through her. He had been married? And widowed? Why had her aunt never mentioned this?

‘When she died,’ Lady Thrapston continued mercilessly, ‘he was so heartbroken that he shut himself away from the world, and even now, all these years later, he can hardly bear to live without her. I have watched him year upon year, and I have to tell you that even when he forces himself to come out of his self-imposed seclusion in honour of this season he can hardly bear the celebrations without her.’

Now
his behaviour made so much sense! She had wondered how he had got the reputation of being a surly recluse, but she could see it all now. He was a broken-hearted widower, who had only slowly and painfully pieced his life back together after the love of his life had died.

And as for Lady Thrapston’s attempts to get him to remarry! Well! She had probably been thrusting marital prospects under his nose with total insensitivity to his pain well before he was ready to take such a step. And not out of concern for him, either! No, it would all have been part of her ongoing battle with Lady Craddock. All Lady Thrapston was keen for him to do was—how
had she put it?—set up his own nursery. So that Lady Craddock’s son would be cut out of the succession.

But if he really was attracted to her, as Lady Thrapston seemed to think… A sharp pain seared through her. She could understand now why at times he seemed to enjoy her company and then abruptly withdrew into stony hostility. Any tender feelings he might have would seem like a betrayal of his first love! He would resent them. He would resent
her
for making him feel them.

‘Thank you for telling me this, My Lady,’ said Helen jerkily, dropping an abrupt curtsey. ‘Unfortunately for me,’ she said with a grimace, ‘it comes a little late. Oh, do not worry—I have no intention of becoming his mistress. I have too much pride to allow
any
man to use me in such a fashion! I have honest work to go to. In fact I shall be leaving to take up my job in just a few days. I am sure,’ she said bitterly, ‘that once I have gone he will forget all about me.’

‘But you will not forget him, will you?’ Lady Thrapston’s face softened into an expression of pity.

‘No,’ replied Helen. ‘Never.’

That night she cried herself to sleep. The more she learned about Lord Bridgemere, the more he tugged at her heart. And the further out of her reach he receded. She might have tempted him out of his customary isolation into a solitary walk, and a waltz which had shocked his family, but only the day before he had offered to buy her a husband. He evidently found her attractive, but would rather see her married to some other man than risk furthering their relationship in any way whatever. What more evidence did she need to prove that his heart
was buried in the grave with his late wife? Oh, Lord, but there was nothing more painful than unrequited love. She sobbed. She hurt. She physically hurt inside at the knowledge that he did not, could not, return her feelings. That she had no hope.

She woke with a heavy heart on Christmas Day. She was dreading her interview with Lord Bridgemere, when she would ask for his assistance with her travels. When she would bid him farewell for ever. He might feel a little sorry she was leaving, if he
had
begun to feel some slight attraction towards her, but on the whole he would be relieved that the temptation she represented would be permanently removed from his life.

On Christmas morning it was the custom, she had been told, for everyone to gather for breakfast together. In years past she and her aunt had always exchanged gifts at the breakfast table too, so the day before she had given her gifts to Mrs Dent to place at the correct table setting.

When she reached the dining room she saw that there was a small packet beside each place setting. She felt a little perplexed as she sat down. Lord Bridgemere had told her that he gave everyone a note informing them of his decision regarding whatever petition they had made. But not that he enclosed with it a small gift.

Beside her, Aunt Bella suddenly burst out laughing. She had opened the present Helen had given her, which was a quarter of peppermint drops twisted into the set of handkerchiefs Helen had embroidered for her.

Helen was a little put out. They had agreed that they would only give each other small token gifts this year, considering the state of their finances. She had known
peppermint drops were a particular favourite of her aunt’s and had thought the gift would please her. Not make her laugh out loud!

Aunt Bella prodded her in the side between whoops of laughter.

‘Open yours, open yours!’ she chortled.

The moment Helen complied she saw the joke. Aunt Bella had made her a reticule and stuffed it to the brim with those self-same sweets.

They were both giggling like a pair of giddy school-girls when Lord Bridgemere came to the table.

He gazed coldly round at the occupants of the table, instantly sobering Helen and her aunt, then took his seat and flicked open his napkin. The butler hastened to his side and poured coffee, whilst everyone else, as though at some hidden signal, began to open the present that lay beside their plate.

Everyone had received something from Lord Bridgemere. Even her. And, while it had been impossible to accept any gift from him on any other day, it was not as though he was singling her out today. She reached for her parcel with trembling fingers.

Inside was a beautiful silk damask shawl. One side had a rose ground and the other gold, so that it could be worn either way to go with different outfits. She felt quite touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift, since one of the shawls she had brought with her had been ruined by a combination of her encounter with Esau in the garden, when it had been trampled into the mud, and Swaledale on the staircase, when his candle had singed it. But her pleasure in Lord Bridgemere’s gift dimmed somewhat when she looked up and saw that every other female at
table was also in receipt of such a shawl. Just as the men had all received cufflinks along with their promissory note.

At that moment Lady Augustine gave a cry of delight as she unfolded the note which had fallen out of her shawl. Her mother, Lady Thrapston, swiftly quelled her outburst with a withering look, which reduced her to stammering her thanks to Lord Bridgemere with red cheeks. But it was too late. The damage was done. Several of the other guests were looking at her with envy, and when they also thanked Lord Bridgemere for whatever it was he had given them it was stiffly, as though they felt disgruntled.

Apart from Lord Norton, who looked downright relieved.

Then Aunt Bella, as if impervious to the atmosphere of jealousy and resentment that was brewing, beamed at Lord Bridgemere and said, ‘Are you not going to open
your
present now?’

Though conversation up to that point had been stilted, Aunt Bella’s comment had the effect of stifling it completely.