The Christmas Carrolls (13 page)

Still standing—Holly hadn’t invited him to join her on the bench—Rendell glanced over to the rowdy bunch still involved in their game. “He’s just a pup. He’ll grow up.”

Which was just what her father had said. But Evan wouldn’t grow up, not if he became cannon fodder. “He respects you,” Holly said. “Why don’t you take him in hand?”

Mr. Rendell still watched Evan acting out some nonsense while his friends hooted at him. “I believe I gave up that right.”

Holly stood, leaving her cup on the bench beside her. “And I do not believe I want the responsibility.” She turned to leave, but felt a touch on her arm.

“Wait, please. Lady Hollice, you don’t seem to like me. I would know why.”

She looked at the gloved hand on her elbow, wondering if it was as brown as the man’s face. “I do not know you, sir, so I would not presume to pass judgment. I do not, however, like the way you raised your son.”

His brows rose and he turned his head to the side, a gesture Evan had always employed. “But, Lady Hollice, I did not raise Evan.”

“Exactly.” She dipped the shallowest of curtsies. “Pray excuse me, my mother needs help with the tea things.”

* * * *

The following day Evan took his friends out with Lord Carroll’s hunters and hounds, but not with his daughters. The lads rode too hard, the earl decreed, with a look to Evan that warned of dire consequences should one of the horses arrive home lame. They were all like-minded sportsmen, though, to whom fine horseflesh was more important than their own necks.

Merry was sulking in the barn with her dog because she couldn’t ride along; Joia and Mama were working on the wedding invitations lists; and the earl and his prospective son-in-law were at the solicitor’s office in Carrolton, finalizing the marriage settlement documents.

Holly couldn’t concentrate on her music, her drawing, or her attempts to learn German from the guidebook Joia had purchased, then discarded. She decided to poke through the library, to see if anything there could hold her interest.

The last thing she wanted was another conversation with Evan’s father. She hastily backed toward the door when she saw him sitting at one of the desks, papers spread around him. His neckcloth was loosened and his sun-streaked hair, longer than the current fashion, had come loose of its queue.

He looked up at the sound, quickly stood, and said, “Please don’t go.”

“No, I am sorry for disturbing you.” She was half out me door.

“Please, Lady Hollice, you would be doing me a favor. I have been at this all morning and could use a respite.” He waved an ink-stained hand at the papers on the desk-

“I’ll... I’ll have Bartholemew bring in a tea tray, sir.”

“But you won’t stay?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked toward her and the exit. “Then let me be the one to leave. This is your house and I do not wish to displace you, especially from such a magnificent library. I only wish I had time to explore the shelves myself. I see some familiar friends, and some interesting titles that haven’t come my way.”

A compliment to the library was one of the quickest ways to win Holly’s rare smile. “It is a wonderful place, isn’t it? But please, sir, I am being impolite. We can share the library.” She gestured Rendell back to the desk, but he grimaced.

“No, I need a rest. I have a report from one of my shipping companies, but I swear the fellow writing the accounting never learned to hold a pen. I cannot tell if he’s trying to hide irregularities, or trying to hide the fact that he cannot spell. Deuce take it if I can make heads or tails of the clunch’s hen-scratches.”

“Would you like me to try? I’ve been deciphering Papa’s scrawls for years.”

“Would you? And yes, I think I need some tea. You will need sustenance, too, after you see what the paperskull’s done to the King’s English.”

Holly took the spectacles out of her pocket. What could her looks matter here? Mr. Rendell stared at her in his quietly appraising way, not precisely discourteous, but disconcerting. Then he nodded and pulled glasses out of his own pocket. “See here, this line?” he pointed out without further comment. “Either I had three ships sink, or I purchased thirty-two bottles of ink.”

Holly was able to help Evan’s father decipher most of the blotches, and devour most of a tray of Cook’s fresh scones. She’d found the report fascinating, so was able to tell him in all honesty that his thank-yous were unnecessary, that she’d been happy to help.

“But I would have had to send the thing back to my secretaries in London, then wait for its return. Surely there must be some way I can show my gratitude, Lady Hollice.”

“First, you can start calling me Holly. Only Mama uses my real name.”

“If you will call me Ren.
No one
calls me by my real name, Hammond, thank goodness, for they’d shorten it to Ham, and your ‘Mr. Rendell’ makes me feel ancient. What is second?”

“Do you speak German? I am trying to learn, and I understand you are going to Austria on business.”

“I do. I’d be useless to my enterprises there, otherwise. I find it absurd how many of our countrymen feel that it’s the world’s duty to learn English. I would be happy to help you with your pronunciation, if that’s what’s bothering you, on the condition that I can call on your assistance again if I hear from this cretin in Cairo.”

“That would be my pleasure.” Holly thought she really would enjoy learning more about business matters.

“Excellent. Shall we say tomorrow at this time?”

“Do you not intend to ride tomorrow? Papa would be happy to lend you a mount.”

“If by riding you mean the neck-or-nothing, cross-country free-for-alls, no, I leave that sport to Evan and his friends. But a pleasant ride in the country sounds appealing if the weather holds. Perhaps you and Evan would accompany me tomorrow afternoon to Rendell Hall. We should be coming to a decision about its future.”

Holly’s future, he meant. She swallowed. “I’m sure that’s for you and Evan to consider, sir.”

Ren raised one eloquent eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. Unlike Papa, this man hid his thoughts and his emotions. He was not, at least, pushing Holly into accepting Evan. Reassured by that, she felt comfortable enough with him to ask, “Why did you finally relent and give your permission for Evan to join the army? You cannot wish your only child to go off to war.”

“Hardly. I have seen enough conflicts throughout the world to know that wars are won by wealthy old men; they are lost by poor young ones. But it was his fondest wish.” Ren didn’t say that he found it hard to deny Evan, that a guilty heart was in conflict with a wiser head. “I felt I had to give my consent, but I didn’t make it easy for him.”

“No, you’ve made it harder for me,” Holly objected. “If I wed Evan, he’s thrown into danger. If I don’t, he’s thwarted in his ambition. I don’t want to hold anyone’s life in my hands that way.”

“I’m sorry, Holly, I never thought of your place in this. In truth, I thought my terms would keep him out of the army. I believed he’d be like other young men, too loath to give up his freedom to exchange it for an officer’s uniform. I assumed the idea of parson’s mousetrap would have him hying back to school in a wink. I hadn’t counted on his great affection for you. Then I hoped that a wife might set his mind to other avenues than war, but as you say, that would cost his dreams. I... I do not know him well enough.”

Holly heard so much regret in Ren’s voice that she told him, “He doesn’t hold that against you, you know.”

But she did, and he blamed himself. Deuce take it, Ren thought, how could he know what was best for his son when years went by without his remembering he
had
a son? Now this lovely young woman was caught in the same snare.

“What do you think he will do,” she was asking, “if I don’t marry him?”

“You mean do I think he’ll find some Covent Garden doxy to wed? No, I was clever enough to stipulate he had to make an acceptable marriage. And I don’t think even he is army-mad enough to take the King’s shilling. I had hoped to offer him a position at one of my businesses, to see if he’d be interested enough to stay.”

The idea of Evan in business, sitting behind a desk, made Holly chuckle. “He’ll never sit still long enough. Besides, if you think your Cairo correspondent has poor penmanship, you should see Evan’s.”

“I have and you’re right. I’d have to hire the bantling a secretary of his own. Then, too, the single-minded brat would only save his wages to buy a commission. Or else he’ll do it when he comes into Squire’s property. Blakely can’t live forever, and it’s the old man who’s insisting on an heir, not myself.”

“So he’ll go off to war sooner or later, no matter what we do?”

“We could pray that Bonaparte is defeated tomorrow, but that’s not likely. And there is always a war going on somewhere for valiant fools to fight.” He put his spectacles back in his pocket and sighed. “At least the army will make a man out of him. Nothing ages a lad quicker than his first battle. Maybe he’ll have his fill of adventure then, and be ready to come home and settle down.”

“You never did.”

Ren looked at her, his head to one side. “I never had a reason to.”

Chapter Fifteen

Flowers and fields thrived in the rain. Gatherings of restless young men did not. When a storm arrived, bringing winds that felled trees and downpours that flooded roads, the mostly male house party started to decamp. Without the hunting, they may as well be back in London where they could visit the clubs and ogle the opera dancers. Evan was left with no like-minded company and no occupation. He did visit his grandparents and he did practice his billiards, but mostly he followed Holly around, expecting her to devise entertainment for them as she always did.

Her parents’ plan to throw them together was working. She seethed. Evan was growing on her—like mildew. Holly would rather be working on her German or helping Mr. Rendell with his papers. His handwriting turned out to be nearly as hopeless as Evan’s, so she offered to write some of his letters, meanwhile listening to Ren’s ideas, stories of his travels, the plans he was making for new ventures.

Instead of being so pleasantly engaged, Holly was forced to spend hours amusing a guest who did not like books or music, who did not like losing whether they played cards or the old nursery games, and who wanted to reenact for her edification every battle of the Peninsular campaign.

“It’s not polite to leave your father alone so often, Evan. Papa’s gout is bothering him too much to be good company, and everyone else is too involved with wedding plans, with the date barely five weeks away. Comfort’s parents will both be coming, so Mama is in a fidge over how to keep them separated. Your father has no one for conversation.”

“I’m glad you’re taking to him, Hol. I told you the pater was great guns, didn’t I? Did I explain Wellesley’s strategies for the stand at Coruna?”

* * * *

Comfort took pity on Holly one afternoon when it seemed as if rain had been falling for weeks instead of days. Reluctantly leaving Joia’s side—she was busy with the local seamstress—the viscount invited Evan to practice fencing with him, since they were both needing the exercise.

They took over the ballroom, after promising Lady Carroll to keep clear of the gold velvet draperies, the striped silk wallpaper, and the newly re-covered chairs. Evan was content for two blessed afternoons, during which Holly learned six irregular verbs, the proper way to address a Bedouin chief, and a new Beethoven sonata. Along with his correspondence, Mr. Rendell had his London couriers bring the music and some books he thought might interest Holly. His messengers had no trouble getting through the mired roads; at the prices the nabob was paying, they would have swum.

On the third afternoon Evan had the knacky notion to invite Holly to watch, thinking to impress her with his prowess. “And you too, sir,” he said, inviting his father. “You must be dashed sick of this musty library and your dry-as-dust papers.”

Merry and Joia came along, and the earl and countess, too, for a diversion. Half the servants also seemed to be in the ballroom, making book, no one doubted.

The foils, of course, were buttoned.

Comfort and Evan were evenly matched. The viscount had ten years’ more experience, but Evan had youthful stamina and a wiry athleticism that Comfort’s larger, more muscular frame could not duplicate. They wore slippers, breeches, and shirt-sleeves, and Holly couldn’t help noticing Joia’s avid interest in Comfort’s undress. As for herself, she was interested in getting back to Mr. Rendell’s theories concerning the future of steam locomotion. Then he quietly asked if he might challenge the winner of the match.

Comfort bowed politely and waited for Evan to help Mr. Rendell shrug himself out of his superfine coat and his shoes.

When he removed his neckcloth and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt so he had more freedom of movement, Holly began to understand Joia’s fascination. Who would have thought the male figure could be so attractive?

Evan was frowning. “I say, sir, don’t you think you ought to wear a face mask?” Even Lady Carroll appeared worried, for scarring the wealthiest man in England would be decidedly bad ton.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, bantling.”

And it wasn’t, not by half. Rendell wasn’t more experienced or more agile; he was, quite simply, a master. The most novice of watchers could recognize at a glance that Comfort was literally defenseless against the older man’s blade, when they could see the flashing steel at all.

The viscount stepped back and held up his hand in surrender. “I have been gulled, I believe,” he said with a smile. “The only way I’ll take you on again, sir, is if you use your left hand.”

Ren cocked his head to the side, then he tossed his sword in the air. Without a glance from Rendell, it arced, flickered, and landed in his other hand. “But, my lord, I am left-handed.”

Evan’s mouth was hanging open. Holly feared hers was, too. The earl was laughing and slapping his thigh. “Deuced good show, Rendell. Where did you learn such skill?”

“Here and there,” was all he said, gesturing Evan to take his place. “Come, twig. If you want to be a soldier, you must sharpen your techniques.”