A Countess by Christmas (5 page)

‘Come in,’ she heard the Earl say from behind the closed door.

She stepped into the room, turning and shutting the door behind her swiftly before anyone saw her. For some reason she did not want anyone to know she had arranged this interview. Not that there was any risk from the rest of the house guests, none of whom were early risers.

But one of the servants might have seen her, and… Oh, bother it all! She spun round, lifted her chin, and
faced the Earl, who was sitting behind his desk, idly twirling a pen between his long, supple fingers. What did it matter who saw her come here? She had every right to speak to the man…

Besides, he had been the one to send for her, had he not? Or would have if she had not spoken to his secretary first.

Lord Bridgemere made a motion with his pen towards the chair which was placed in front of his desk, which she interpreted as a signal to sit on it. On rather shaky legs she walked to it, and sank onto it gratefully, placing the candle she had used to light her way down on the floor by her feet.

He could see she was nervous. As well she might be, sneaking down here to meet him unchaperoned. She had taken care to make sure nobody had seen her, though, so at least she was not intending to attempt to compromise him. Still, he was going to take great care that she did not suspect he found her attractive, lest it occur to her to try her luck with him. She would not be the first young female to inveigle her way into one of his house parties with the intention of tempting him to abandon his single state. Though usually it was Lady Thrapston who brought them.

A horrible suspicion struck him then. Might Lady Thrapston have dragged the older Miss Forrest into her matchmaking schemes? Was this lovely young woman the bait by which he was to be hooked? He must observe the interaction between the two ladies closely over the next few days, to see whether they were engaged in some form of conspiracy. His sister might have finally realised that he would strenuously resist
any
female introduced
to him by her, no matter how fetching he found her, and switched to a more subtle approach.

Helen was glad she had draped her thickest shawl round her shoulders before setting out from the little tower room, having checked this time that there was no soot on it. She had known the corridors would strike chill at this time of day, and the fire in this room had barely got going. Nobody had been in to light the candles, either. There was just her own nightstick upon the floor, and one very similar on the desk between them. It made the setting somehow very intimate. To think of them sitting alone down here, before anyone else was stirring, just barely able to make out anything in the rest of the room…

She shifted self-consciously in her chair, drawing the shawl more tightly round her shoulders.

Lord Bridgemere made no comment, merely lifted one eyebrow as he regarded her rather tatty shawl in that supercilious way that had so incensed her when she had thought he was a footman.

Mutinously she lifted her chin, and ran her eyes over his own attire. He obviously intended going out riding. There was a whip and a pair of gloves lying on the table. But his jacket was of rough material, and the woollen scarf he had knotted loosely at his throat made him look more like a groom than the lord of the manor!

Their silent duel might have gone on indefinitely had not an odd, plaintive noise emanating from the direction of the fireplace drawn her attention. It appeared to be coming from a heap of mildewed sacking that somebody had carelessly tossed onto the hearthrug.

‘Oh,’ she said, instantly forgetting her own grievances
as a wave of concern washed through her. ‘Has somebody left an injured animal in here?’

Before the Earl could make any reply, something like a huge paw emerged and began energetically scratching at another portion of the tangled mass. A great shaggy head filled with immense teeth rose up, yawned, and then the whole settled back down into an amorphous muddy-coloured mass.

‘It’s a dog!’ she said, then blushed at the absurdity of stating the obvious. Of course it was a dog. Not a heap of sacking. Why on earth would an earl have piles of mildewed sacks about the place?

‘Yes,’ he said icily. ‘Do you wish me to have him removed? Does he offend you?’

‘What?’ She frowned. ‘No, of course he does not offend me. He just took me by surprise, that is all.’

His mouth twisted into the same expression of distaste he had turned on the woman who had presided at the foot of his dinner table the night before.

‘You think it beneath my dignity to own an animal of such uncertain pedigree? Is that it?’

It was a complaint he was always hearing from Lady Thrapston. Why could he not live up to his consequence? Why would he not go to town and ride around Hyde Park in a smart equipage? So that she could bask in his reflected glory, naturally. As though she did not occupy an elevated enough sphere in her own right!

And if he must have a dog, why could it not be an animal of prime pedigree, a gundog, the kind every other man would have.

As if he cared about appearances these days.

Helen was determined to hold her temper in check, in
spite of his provoking manner. She managed to return a placating smile to his frown, and say, ‘No, not at all.’

The smile and the soft answer did not placate him. Their only effect was to make his scowl deeper.

‘I preferred you when you thought I was one of my servants,’ he muttered.

At least when she’d thought he was a footman he’d had the truth from her. Now she knew he was the Earl of Bridgemere she was putting on a false face. Smiling when what she really wanted to do was take him down a peg or two.

His comment wiped the smile from her face. She barely managed to prevent herself from informing him that she did not like him in either persona! As a servant she had thought him impertinent, as well as resenting the improper thoughts his proximity had sent frolicking through her mind. As an earl… Well, she had already decided he was a cold, hard, unpleasant sort of man before she had even met him. Now she
had
met him she could add eccentric and unprincipled to the list of faults she was tallying up against him. Stringing her along like that, when one word would have put her straight!

However, it would not do to tell him what she really thought. Forcing herself to adopt what she hoped was a suitably humble tone, she said instead, ‘For which I do most sincerely apologise. It was just that you dress so…’ She waved her hand at his attire, which was so ordinary that she defied anyone who did not know to guess that this man held the rank of Earl.

But her speech made no impact on the depth of his scowl.

‘And then again, the way you just picked up my aunt and carried her upstairs, as though…’

‘You expected me to stand back and watch as she fell to the ground? Is that it?’

He could not tolerate people who were too high in the instep to lend a hand to those less fortunate than themselves. It sickened him when he saw highly bred females hold scented handkerchiefs to their noses as they turned their faces away from beggars. And what kind of man would let a fainting lady drop to the stone flags rather than risk creasing the fabric of his coat?

‘You were struggling with her dead weight,’ he pointed out. ‘And Peters was just standing there gaping. Somebody had to do something.’ And from the way she had railed at him on the subject of rank and need he had thought she felt the same. ‘As you so forcefully pointed out,’ he reminded her.

His eyes had gone so cold and hard it made her want to shiver. She quailed at the reminder of exactly what she had said to him on that occasion. He was clearly still very annoyed with her for being so impertinent.

‘Yes, I know I was terribly rude to you, but I thought…’

‘That I was merely a servant, and so could be spoken to as though I were of no account. Yes.’ He pursed his lips. ‘It was a most edifying experience.’

Now she knew he was an earl she would modify her views, no doubt, as well as her manners!

‘It was not like that!’ Helen objected. ‘If you do not wish to be taken for a servant you should tell people who you are! And not loiter around the backstairs the way you do!’

She could have kicked herself. She had sworn she would not antagonise him, and what was she doing? Answering him in a manner that was exceptionally impertinent.

And yet now his scowl had vanished. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with frank surprise.

‘Do you have no control over your temper, Miss Forrest?’

It was intriguing. She knew who he was. He was certain she had some hidden agenda where he was concerned. And yet she could only play at being obsequious so long before something inside her rebelled.

‘Very little,’ she admitted guiltily. ‘I always
mean
to say what is proper. But usually I just end up telling the truth instead.’

She clapped her hands over her mouth, appalled at having just given him such a clear demonstration of her lack of restraint.

But, far from looking offended, he began to smile. Until now she had only seen a hint of amusement putting a glint into those eyes which were normally so stony, so cold. It was a surprise to see how very different that smile made him look.

Oh, if he were just a footman, and he turned
that
smile on any of the maids, they would swoon at his feet!

‘Let me assure you, Miss Forrest, that when the host of a gathering such as this appears on the doorstep to welcome his guests he generally assumes that they know exactly who he is.’

‘Oh, well, y…yes,’ she conceded. ‘I suppose they would…’

‘And as for
loitering
, as you put it, on the backstairs, I do no such thing. I never use the main staircase because—’ He pulled himself up short, astounded by the fact that she had almost made him speak of a matter he never talked about with anyone. Not that most people needed to ask why he avoided setting foot on that staircase.

‘I was simply taking the quickest route down to this room when I chanced upon you and ran foul of your temper,’ he said irritably.

‘Oh!’ She sat up straight, feeling as though he had slapped her. All the melting feelings his smile had engendered vanished at once. ‘Well, I think I had a right to be angry! My aunt had been treated abominably! And then, to add insult to injury, you accused me of setting the servants’ hall in a bustle…’

He held up his hand. ‘Unjust of me under the circumstances, I suppose.’ Unjust to tease her, too. Had he not realised last night that this kind of behaviour was not that of a gentleman?

It was time to stop this—whatever it was that afflicted him whenever he came into Miss Forrest’s orbit—and remember why he had wanted to speak with her privately.

‘I had not all the facts at my disposal. I did not know that you were not a servant—’

‘You see?’ she could not refrain from pointing out triumphantly. ‘It is an easy enough mistake to make…’

His lips twitched. Was it so surprising he could not remember who he was when she was around, when she clearly could not either? She was still talking to him as
though she had the right to take him to task. As though they were equals. ‘
Touché
. Let us cry quits over that issue. Agreed?’

‘Oh, absolutely!’ She beamed at him. Really, thought Helen, he was being far less difficult to deal with than she had imagined he would be. He could be fair. She only hoped he would be as fair in his eventual treatment of her aunt.

Lord, but that smile packed quite a punch. Miss Forrest was not merely pretty, as he had first thought. She was dazzling.

And women who could dazzle a man, make him forget who he was, the very principles by which he lived his life, were dangerous. As he knew to his cost.

He pulled a sheet of paper across the desk and frowned down at it.

‘As for the question of your aunt’s accommodations,’ he said coldly, ‘it appears quite a string of errors have been made. About you both. I wondered at the time I took her up there exactly why my cousin’s aunt had been put in a room that should more correctly have been allotted to a visiting upper servant. And upon making enquiries I discovered it had not.’

‘Not?’ Helen felt puzzled. One moment he had been smiling and approachable. The next it was as though he had pulled up the drawbridge and retreated into his fortress. Shutting her out.

‘Ah, no. The room to which I took her is yours, Miss Forrest. And before you remind me yet again that you are not a servant, let me explain that until your arrival it was believed you were accompanying my aunt in the role of paid companion. I have checked the correspondence
by means of which she informed Mrs Dent she was bringing along a young lady. She referred to you as her companion and, having read it myself, I am not the least surprised it created such confusion. We had no idea you are, in fact, a young relative of hers.’

Helen cast her mind back to the day her aunt had written that letter. Her nerves had been in shreds. When she had lost all her money certain people had begun to cut her in the street. And then their landlord, who had sometimes come in to take tea with them, had stood on the doorstep, coldly demanding cash and threatening her with eviction. She had known she could not apply to either of her brothers for aid. And then the annual invitation to Alvanley Hall had arrived, reminding her that there was still the head of the family, who might—just might—be able to solve her difficulties. Aunt Bella’s hand had been shaking as she had penned her acceptance letter. It was hardly surprising that she had not made Helen’s station clear.

When she nodded, he went on, ‘I shall have her moved to the room she should have been occupying today. You will be relieved to hear,’ he said dryly, ‘that it is not up so many flights of stairs.’

She felt her cheeks colouring, but lifted her chin and said, ‘Thank you.’

He regarded her wryly. ‘I can see that hurt. And it may hurt you even more when you are obliged to retract your accusation that my staff ignored the needs of an ailing untitled lady to see to a woman of rank. The simple fact of the matter is that the bell-pull in that room does not work.’