The Christmas Heiress (15 page)

Jonathan laughed aloud, giving in to an irresistible urge to hug her. She screeched in shock at
his sudden move, but allowed it. He then took her
hand with a casual intimacy that felt totally natural
and began walking away from the manor.

"Why did you try to avoid me?" he asked, still hurt
by the gesture.

She blushed prettily. "We have never been alone
with each other and I thought it prudent that our interaction remain within the strict bounds of propriety."

"That sounds rather dull," he replied. He lifted a
finger and traced the line of her cheek.

Agitated, she stepped back, out of his reach. "My
circumstances have forced me to be a practical
woman. If we are caught, I could lose my position, be
dismissed without so much as a letter of reference."

"I would never allow that to happen."

A rueful smile touched her lips. "I know you would
try to prevent it and perhaps you would succeed, but
I would still find myself in dire circumstances."

"Even if you were able to stay here?"

"Especially if I stayed here."

Perplexed, Jonathan searched her lovely face,
trying to understand what she was so reluctant to say
aloud. Gradually, a silence developed; it was the most
emotionally charged he had ever endured. Though
he had more than his share of experience with the
opposite sex, he was not so much of a fool as to believe he could ever fully understand what was going
on in a woman's mind without asking her directly.

"What are you trying to tell me, Evelyn?" he
asked, enjoying the informality of addressing her
by her first name.

"I fear that where you are concerned I have very
little willpower."

His heart leapt with delight. "I feel the same
about you," Jonathan confessed. "It appears we
share an irrevocable, unavoidable attraction for
each other."

"I fear that might be true," she whispered, her
face the picture of abject misery, her eyes disturbed. "And if it is, I know that my heart needs
protection from you."

Something tender welled up inside Jonathan.
The need to take her in his arms and console her
was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated, worried the gesture would distress her more.

"I would never intentionally cause you harm or
bring you hurt," he said. "On the contrary, I would
take care of you, Evelyn, if you let me."

Her eyes widened, then she passed a trembling
hand over her eyes. "Though I am only a servant
now, I was raised in a genteel household, taught to
be a lady of grace and virtue. The lessons of a lifetime run deep. It might work at first, when the flush
of passion and excitement are all consuming, but I
know I could never be happy as your mistress."

For a moment he froze. His mistress? "I am not a
man who enjoys brief affairs and is then content to
find another partner." He set his hand over hers
and kissed her palm. "My intentions toward you are
honorable. I would have you as my wife and treat
you with the proper respect that you deserve."

He had not meant to make such a bold declaration, but once the words had been spoken, he knew
they were true. For two years he had admired her,
flirted with her and teased her and somehow fallen
in love with her. The only possible way for them to
be together was through marriage.

She tore her gaze away. "If only life were that
simple."

"It can be," he coaxed.

She shook her head. "You need to be practical,
Jonathan. You are a second son. You must marry a
woman with a sizeable dowry and a yearly income,
someone that your mother approves of and deems
suitable."

"I never took you for a woman who would scorn
a man for his lack of wealth."

"I would never think something so offensive!"
Evelyn leveled a look of anger at him. "You may want
to choose a wife with your heart, but you need to
choose a wife who is at least equal or better to your
station."

"I have an adequate allowance," he huffed.

"For a bachelor. But you will need to supplement
it once you have taken a wife and started a family
because you do not have a profession or any other
means with which to earn a living."

Jonathan hid a wince at the truth of her words. "I
suppose I should be the one who works, not my
brother," he said glumly.

"You were raised to be a gentleman and are perfect exactly as you are," she said forcefully. Her
knuckles brushed his cheek. "Do not ever think less
of yourself."

Lord, it was bittersweet to see the admiration in
her eyes. "You always say precisely the right things.
That is why I need you in my life. I only wish-"

"As do I, but wishes are very dangerous things." A
deep shuddering sigh wracked her body. "I must go
or else I shall be missed."

"We need to talk, Evelyn. Meet me this afternoon.
Four o'clock in the library." He smiled slow and
sweet. "Nobody ever goes in there."

She looked at him, her eyes wide and helpless.
"I dare not," she said, her voice rising with despair.
"It would only bring heartbreak to us both."

She turned on her heel and ran from him, the
soft soles of her slippers echoing off the brick pavements lining the courtyard. Jonathan allowed her
to go because he had no choice, swallowing back all
the words that rushed to his mouth. It was one of
the hardest things he had ever done, staring at her
retreating back and all the while remembering the
feel of her mouth beneath his, soft and warm and
sweeter than anything he had ever tasted.

Weary in heart and soul, he slowly started walking toward the house. Fate had dealt him a rotten hand.
After blissfully enjoying bachelorhood for all these
years, he was finally falling in love. With an unsuitable young woman.

Jonathan gazed up at the sky, marveling at how
truly bizarre the world could be. Fortunately, he
had always been a man who relished a challenge.
He lifted his chin a notch and straightened the
collar of his coat.

Convincing Evelyn Montgomery that they could
one day be a happily married couple was going to
be the greatest challenge he ever undertook-and
by far the most rewarding to achieve.

"Charlotte, you must come at once. Everyone is
gathering in the kitchen. 'Tis time to stir the Christmas pudding!"

"Grandpapa, you startled me!" Charlotte exclaimed
as she hastily shoved the embroidery hoop that held
a fine white square of linen into the side cushion of
her chair, hoping to hide it from him.

The handkerchief she was so painstakingly embroidering was a Christmas gift for her grandfather.
It was foolish to try and hide it since the gift would
hardly be a surprise. She always gave him an embroidered handkerchief at Christmas.

Lord Reginald insisted it was the one thing he
truly needed from her and she was touched when
she discovered it was something he treasured. She
had learned, quite by accident, that the handkerchiefs she embroidered were to be laundered by
hand, pressed by her grandfather's valet, then
stored carefully in a special drawer in his wardrobe.

He had saved them all, including the first one she
had crafted with abominable stitches when she was
six years old, and the one she made at seven, that was
forever spotted because she had pricked her finger
so many times and the bloodstains never washed out.

He had saved the impossibly elaborate one she
had created when she turned thirteen, far too frilly
and gaudy for a refined gentleman. But he had
kept each one, and he insisted on carrying them on
certain days of the year.

Her birthday, his birthday, the anniversary of her
parents' wedding, the day she was presented to the
queen. He treated them like family heirlooms, as precious as any painting or property or jewels. Knowing
that made the sewing chore a bit less arduous, for
Charlotte never really enjoyed embroidery and her
skill was average at best.

She shifted in her chair, moving to retrieve the
hoop and place it in the sewing basket at her feet,
but as she reached down into the cushion she
jabbed the needle into her finger, pricking herself.
Somehow Charlotte bit back an unladylike oath just
in time and stuck her finger in her mouth.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Lord Reginald
asked.

`Wonderful," Charlotte forced herself to say. "I'll
only be a moment."

Her grandfather pulled out a gold watch fob and
consulted the time. "Do hurry, Charlotte. I do not
want to be late and upset Cook. She is a genius in
the kitchen, but as is true of many artists, she can
be a bit sensitive on occasion."

Charlotte let out a good-natured sigh. "Cook's temperament is the countess's concern, Grandpapa, not ours," she reminded him.

Lord Reginald grimaced. "But if Cook gets upset
with me, she might not make the candied ginger
cookies I am so fond of having each Christmas. The
holiday would just not be the same without them."

"Our own Mrs. Saunders baked several batches of
the treats before we left Quincy Court," Charlotte
said. "Surely you noticed the large tin I packed?"

Lord Reginald's lips turned downward. "We've
been here for two days, Charlotte. The tin is empty."

"Grandfather! "

"They are my favorite Christmas treat," he declared defensively, his cheeks turning pink. "If you
wanted to save them for Christmas Day, then you
should have hidden them."

"I did hide them!"

"Well, you should have hidden them where they
would not have been so easily found." Lord Reginald
flexed his shoulders as if to rid them of an ache.

Charlotte rubbed a hand over her mouth to cover
a grin. She didn't know how to respond. Lately, she
had begun to notice instances where their roles
seemed to be reversed, where she was the responsible adult and her grandfather was the carefree
child. She supposed she could blame it on the holiday, for it brought out the youngster in everyone.

Yet that did not explain why he on occasion acted
like this in the middle of the summer.

"I will speak with Cook this afternoon," Charlotte
decided. "I am sure she will be pleased to accommodate my request for the cookies. And since you
have already eaten so many of them, I will only
need to ask for a small number to be baked."

A look of alarm crossed Lord Reginald's face. "I
am not certain that will do the trick. Everyone else
is bound to ask Cook for special Christmas treats.
The earl requested more mince pies and the countess always likes a walnut tart. And just this morning I saw Haddon give the butler a recipe for trifle
that he claimed was Lady Haddon's favorite."

"You like all those foods, especially trifle," Charlotte said in a reasonable voice. "It's a lovely holiday
dessert."

"Sponge cake soaked in brandy, custard, blackberry jam, whipped cream-there is not a single
thing not to like about trifle," Lord Reginald agreed.
He sent her a shrewd look. "But if the family has requests and then all the guests keep asking for special
treats, there won't be time to make them all. Something will be left out."

Charlotte snorted. "I promise that your ginger
cookies will not be forgotten. Even though you have
already eaten enough to last you until next Christmas." She placed her embroidery hoop in her
sewing basket and snapped the lid, then she slid her
arm through his. "Come, let's hurry down to the
kitchen, so we can arrive in time and stay in Cook's
good graces."

Lord Reginald's answering hearty smile warmed
her heart. It took so very little to please her grandfather. He was an uncomplicated man, goodnatured, kind and generous. Though a part of her
would always regret not knowing her parents, she
was grateful that she had been given the chance to
form a unique bond with this very special man.

The smells wafting from the kitchen made Charlotte's mouth water when they entered the room. Lemon, orange, cinnamon and nutmeg. She wondered if one of the earl's ships had brought the exotic
fruits and spices to the shores of England, providing
the necessary ingredients for this special pudding.

All the servants were lined up on the far wall,
clean and shiny as if ready for inspection. Most of
the houseguests were also present, laughing and
jostling one another while enjoying generous helpings of the mulled wine that was being served.

Lord and Lady Haddon had even brought their
youngsters. Lord Haddon held their daughter, Julia,
firmly in the crook of his arm, appearing so comfortable and at ease it was obvious the little girl spent
many hours with her father. She was a pretty child,
who shared her mother's striking blue eyes and curly
blond hair. The baby rested in the cradle of his
mother's arms, his eyes wide open and curious, his
small hand reaching out occasionally to bat at
his mother's cheek.

With Charlotte by his side, Lord Reginald weaved
his way through the crowd, winking at her when he
miraculously managed to place himself in a prominent position near the wooden worktable.

Charlotte found herself smiling at his antics, glad
that he was able to still find joy in life's simple pleasures, happy that he had not adopted the appalling
habit that so many others of his age so eagerly embraced, complaining about his health. It seemed to
her that a very favorite topic of conversation among
older people was a catalogue of their various health
complaints, when they usually offered far more
detail than anyone cared to know.

"If everyone is here, we can get started," the earl
announced, bringing the lull of jovial conversation to an end. "Cook has told me that in order to make
a proper pudding it should be stored for several
weeks after it is mixed and boiled because the
longer the fruit is marinating the better it tastes.
But I wanted us all to observe one of my favorite
Christmas traditions, and so we have gathered here
to each take a turn stirring this magnificent pudding Cook has created."

Cook, a stout woman of middle years, exhibited
a modest grin. "As His Lordship has said, two weeks
isn't enough time to make a proper pudding, but I
figure if we put enough brandy sauce on it, it will be
passably tasty."