The Christmas Heiress (10 page)

Before Charlotte could protest, Jonathan turned
his horse and trotted from the forecourt.

Drat! She was just beginning to get her nerves
under control. The last thing she needed was to be
left alone with the earl. She briefly considered declaring herself chilled and rushing for the front
door, but acting the coward went against her nature.

Endurance and patience, two of the great assets
of life. She had always possessed the former in abundance and was learning to court the latter. She certainly had need of both emotions at this moment.

In one fluid motion, the earl dismounted from his
horse, standing a mere hairsbreadth away from Charlotte. She glanced discreetly at him and found herself
looking up. It made her feel slight, almost delicate,
an unusual occurrence for a woman of her height.

He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader. He bore himself very straight, like a soldier, even when he made a rigid half bow in her
direction. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the
way she stiffened at his proximity.

"Did you have a pleasant journey?" Charlotte
asked, thankful the words came without effort, without real thought. She was acutely aware of him standing but a few yards away, large, lean and vital, his
gaze on her.

"Yes, thank you." He shifted the reins methodically
from one gloved hand to the other, then back again.
"The weather seems pleasant enough, though there
is a definite chill in the air."

The conversation continued along the same vein
for several moments. Charlotte was amazed that they
were able to indulge in small talk, yet by some unspoken agreement they had each decided it was preferable to waiting in awkward silence for Jonathan and
the stable hands to appear.

After what seemed like hours, when in reality had
only been a few minutes, Jonathan returned with
two eager young lads on his heels. They apologized
for not coming sooner, bowed respectfully, then led
the horses away.

Charlotte unintentionally found herself standing
beside the earl when they reached the front door.
It opened a mere second after his loud knock. As
they stepped into the marble foyer, a ripple of
something passed through him, but his expression
was a mystery to her. She could read nothing in his
handsome face.

"My lord! Welcome home!" The usually stuffy,
proper family butler, Harris, was grinning from ear
to ear. In all the years she had been to the manor,
Charlotte had never seen him so animated.

"Thank you, Harris. 'Tis good to be here." The
earl's mouth was faintly smiling, his expression one
of self-directed mockery. "'Tis good also to see you."

"Thank you, my lord." Harris grinned and
bobbed his head enthusiastically, then signalled for
the footman to come forward and lend assistance.
Charlotte tried not to be impressed as she observed
the earl interacting with the staff, calling each by
name, asking after their health and their families.

"My lord, you've come back!" Mrs. Hobbins, the
plump, white-haired housekeeper, came rustling
across the polished marbled floors, the large ring
of keys signifying her station in the household jingling loudly with each step. She skidded to a halt in
front of the earl, barely stopping short of hugging
him. "'Twill be a fine Christmas indeed, with you
home to celebrate."

"I can hardly wait to feast on the Christmas goose,
Mrs. Hobbins," the earl replied with a more relaxed
smile. "Do you think you can persuade Cook to bake
a few extra mince pies? They are my favorites, and
as I recall the recipe is one passed down from your
own family."

The housekeeper's face lit up with pride. "Aye,
we will have mince pies on Christmas Eve and
Christmas Day this year!"

The sudden sound of clattering footsteps drew all
eyes to the top of the stairs. Charlotte half expected
to see a bevy of servants pushing forward to catch a
glimpse of the earl, but instead it was the countess
who came into view.

Short, slender, with iron-gray hair and a pale
complexion, the countess carried herself with the
regal bearing of a queen. Her mouth was thin, set with grooves close to the edges of her lips, and a
web of lines radiated from the corner of her eyes,
none of which were caused by an overabundance of
humor.

Despite the large number of people crowding into
the foyer, there was barely a sound to be heard. Head
high, the countess glided down the curved steps,
halting when she reached mid-staircase. She lifted
the quizzing glass she wore on a gold chain 'round
her neck up to her left eye and peered through it.

"Is that you, Jonathan? I had not expected you to
arrive until late tomorrow." She spoke in a bracing,
faintly exasperated tone, pointedly addressing her
younger son, yet all the while staring at the earl.

Charlotte saw the earl lean close to his brother and
heard him whisper, "You did warn her I was coming?"

Jonathan's lips twisted. "She knows."

The earl made a faint nod of his head, but said
nothing. They all waited for the older woman to
complete her decent. Her back stiffened perceptibly when she reached the final step.

Jonathan moved forward, hesitated, then moved
back, remaining at his brother's side. The countess
let the quizzing glass she held drop down to her
bosom, the gold chain it dangled from glittering in
the sunlight.

"You are looking lovely this afternoon, Mother,"
Jonathan said. "That shade of blue becomes you."

She grinned briefly at her younger son, then
glanced at the earl. No smile crossed her lips as she
beheld her older son.

"Good afternoon, Madame." The earl bowed
slightly, then met his mother's gaze without blinking. "I must agree with my brother. You are indeed
looking well."

She did not reply and her expression grew even
more stony. Charlotte had never realized what a proud,
humorless, almost morose woman the countess could
be. For one absurd instant she was seized with the
need to reach out and take the earl's hand. He seemed
much in need of some comfort and support.

"If you care to rest before supper, I am certain
Mrs. Hobbins has prepared your rooms," the
countess said.

"Yes, my lady, all is ready." Mrs. Hobbins bit her
lip. "Shall I have His Lordship's luggage brought to
the earl's suite?"

The countess's jaw went slack. She looked from
the housekeeper to her son, acute discomfort on
her face.

"I prefer my usual rooms, Mrs. Hobbins," the earl
said. "It will feel like even more of a homecoming
for me if I reside in those chambers."

"Very good, my lord." The housekeeper sighed
audibly with relief.

"Perhaps it would be best to adjourn to the
parlor," Jonathan suggested.

"Would you care for tea?" Harris asked.

"Yes." Jonathan turned toward the countess.
"Mother?"

"If you insist I shall come," the countess replied,
tightening the shawl around her shoulders. "Will
you join us, Miss Aldridge?"

For one wicked moment Charlotte was tempted.
She suspected the high drama of watching the earl
and countess interact was going to be much better
than many theater productions she had attended.

"Thank you, no," she finally answered, good mantiers winning out over curiosity. This was a family
matter and none of her concern. "I will see you all
later this evening."

The countess turned. Back ramrod straight, she
marched from the foyer. The earl did not immediately follow, but instead spoke to his butler. As she
walked slowly toward the staircase, Charlotte clearly
heard his orders.

"Bring a large decanter of whiskey with the tea,
Harris. I have a feeling I'm going to be needing something stronger to make it through this afternoon."

As he entered the parlor, Edward noted that it
had been refurbished, and judging by the quality
and opulence of the furnishings it had been a significant expense. How bloody ironic! His mother
might vehemently object to the way he made his
fortune, but she clearly had no reservations when
it came to spending it.

They took their seats on the pair of tapestry sofas
that faced each other in front of the hearth. A roaring fire blazed there, keeping out the wintery chill.
But, alas, it offered no protection from the coldness
of his mother's glare.

Edward sat opposite the countess, leaving
Jonathan to make a choice. His brother barely hesitated as he settled himself beside him. A sardonic
grin touched Edward's mouth. Jonathan had
pledged his support and he meant to keep his word.

Edward appreciated the gesture, especially with
his mother looking at him like she wanted to rend
him limb from limb. No small task for so slight a
woman.

"There is no need to act as if I am here to steal
the silver, Madame," Edward said, summoning a
smile. "Or that you wish to set the hounds on me."

"I do not believe we keep hounds anymore,"
Jonathan said with a nervous laugh. "We haven't
been fox hunting in years and years. I'm afraid most
of the dogs on the estate are spoiled pets, eager to
lick your hand in exchange for a tasty morsel or a
good scratch behind the ears. Even Father's
wolfhounds, those enormous beasts, wiggle frantically for attention whenever anyone is near."

The countess scowled, not at all amused by her
younger son. "You are the earl, Edward, now that
your father is gone. The silver belongs to you. As do
the dogs." She offered him a smile that held more
than a hint of bitterness.

Edward forced himself not to retort. He had
learned over the years that treading lightly was the
best way to deal with a woman's resentment.

Harris arrived, with several liveried footman in
tow. They carried in tea and scones, crumpets with
butter and jam, pastries and finger sandwiches, plus
the requested whiskey decanter and two crystal
goblets.

The countess's brows raised at the last item, but
she made no comment. At her command, the servants withdrew. She busied herself pouring tea and
arranging the light repast on individual plates.
Edward saw that even at such short notice Cook had
tried to include as many of his favorite treats as possible, yet somehow his mother managed to place
only the ones he did not care for on his dish.

He supposed he should feel flattered his mother
could recall what he liked, even if she remembered only to deny it to him. Edward ignored the cup of
tea she had poured, placing it untouched in front
of him, and eyed the whiskey decanter.

"I thought today was to have been your wedding
day," the countess said in a quelling tone. "And instead you have come to Farmington Manor."

Edward's shoulder's went rigid. Despite his resolve not to, he felt himself flushing. "As a courtesy,
I sent you a message explaining that the ceremony
had been called off, even though you were not
planning on attending the wedding."

"'Tis difficult for me to travel at this time of the
year." The countess sniffed with disdain. "Besides, I
had no desire to meet the young woman you had
chosen, who in my opinion was nothing more than
a title hunter. She was no doubt an ambitious miss,
ill-bred, graceless and unsuitable, without consequence or connections. I would never have approved or accepted such a creature into my family,
one who would allow her father to try to buy her
way into the upper classes by purchasing an earl for
his daughter."

Edward hooded his gaze. "I cannot understand
why you would object, Mother. Henrietta was gifted
with an impressive dowry. You yourself suggested
that marriage was the only way for us to pay off all
the considerable family debts and regain solvency
after generations of financial mismanagement and
extravagant living."

The countess gave him a furious glare. "How
dare you compare the two?" Fiercely, she set her
teacup in its saucer. "Your father and I only wanted
the best for you in marriage. We chose an aristocratic young woman with a flawless background, possessing a substantial fortune, who had been
raised to take her proper place in society. We would
never have done what you were so eager to do,
allow your title to be purchased like a trophy by an
ill-suited, inferior family."

"My wealth exceeded George Menton's," Edward
returned mildly. "Money was hardly the major
factor when contracting the union between myself
and his daughter."

The countess recoiled as if he had struck her. She
stared at him in astonishment, obviously trying to
absorb the truth of his blunt pronouncement. "And
you are proud and boastful of that fact? You choose
to defy your father and me by refusing to marry
Charlotte Aldridge and yet you would willingly enter
into marriage with a-"

"They wanted you to marry Charlotte?"Jonathan
interrupted. "Is that what started the quarrel in the
first place?"

"Yes!" the countess exclaimed in a hoarse voice.
"Six years ago he refused to marry Miss Aldridge.
Everyone agreed it would be an excellent match, but
your brother would not even consider the union.
What a wretched Christmas that became! It was mortifying for us to have to explain to Lord Reginald
that an offer would not be forthcoming,,-

"Fortunately, Lord Reginald is a gracious man of
good breeding, and he forgave us. He has never
again spoken of the incident, not even after
Edward announced he would wed a woman who
would never be able to ease the smell of commerce
from her person."

A muscle in Edward's jaw worked visibly. "Though
she might not have been born with blood that was blue enough to satisfy you, Miss Menton was every
inch a lady," he declared forcefully, his tone taking
on a lethal softness. "She dressed as a lady, spoke as
a lady and acted as a lady. And since you never had
the good fortune to meet her, I must insist that you
refrain from assassinating her character."

"Her character? There is no need for me to comment upon it," the countess said scorchingly. "Miss
Menton demonstrated her true breeding to one
and all with her actions, running off and eloping
with a nobody days before your wedding. She might
have fooled you by dressing in expensive, fashionable clothes and speaking in sweet, dulcet tones,
but blood will tell in the end."