Regency Mistletoe & Marriages: A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

She made herself comfortable upon one of the window seats with which the room was blessed, and bent her mind to the task in hand. She was not sure how long she had been sitting there when she became aware she was no longer alone.

She looked up from the tangle of silks on her lap to find Lord Bridgemere standing in the doorway. His face was, as usual, hard to read.

Helen felt her cheeks grow hot, and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen him since that early-morning walk of which she’d had such high expectations. And which had resulted in her making such a fool of herself and caused her a morning of quite painful soulsearching as she’d faced up to several unpleasant truths about her character. She had come to the conclusion that whenever Lord Bridgemere looked at her what he saw was a very vain and silly woman.

‘I was just passing,’ he said, moving his arm towards the corridor outside. ‘And I saw you sitting here alone.’

And had been transfixed by the way the sunlight gilded her hair, the pout of her lips as she concentrated on whatever it was that she was doing.

He cleared his throat. ‘Why are you on your own, Miss Forrest? Is your aunt unwell?’

Even as he said it he knew that she would not be down here if that were the case. She would be upstairs, nursing her adopted relative. Or down in the kitchens, making some remedy for her. She would not have bothered to ring the bell. A smile kicked up one corner of his mouth as he pictured her marching into the kitchens and elbowing his servants aside to concoct some remedy which only she knew how to make to her own satisfaction.

‘Far from it,’ replied Helen, wondering what could have put that strange smile on his face. Did she have a smut on her nose? Or was he just recalling one of the many ways she had made a fool of herself since she had come here?

‘Aunt Bella is in the card room with Lady Norton. They plan to spend the afternoon drinking tea and gossiping about the fate of mutual acquaintances.’

Her face was so expressive he could not miss a little trace of pique at the way the older woman was treating her. There was something going on between these two ladies that he needed to uncover. The general belief was that Helen was the older Miss Forrest’s sole heir. But she had told him she needed to go out to work because she was penniless.

Yet she was still fiercely loyal to her adopted aunt. Whatever had happened between them, it had not soured her.

He found himself walking towards her.

‘And what is it you are doing?’

‘Oh, nothing much!’ Helen quickly stuffed her rough sketches of the Bridgemere coat of arms into her workbasket, and held up the bodice of one of the gowns she was altering. ‘Tedious stuff. Making buttonholes and such,’ she said.

His brows lowered slightly. ‘Is there nothing more amusing you could be doing?’

Helen grappled with a sense of exasperation. She had accused him of neglecting her and her aunt, had felt resentful of the amusements he had provided for the other guests. Yet now he was here, playing the gracious host, she felt uncomfortable. She was not an invited guest. She had done nothing but cause trouble since she had entered his house. And he must have a thousand and one more important things to do with his time. He ought not to be wasting it on her.

‘Please do not trouble yourself with me. I am quite content. I…I would actually prefer to be doing something useful than frittering the time away with cards or gossip.’

‘Is that so?’

Sometimes Miss Forrest said things that were so exactly what he felt about life himself that it was as though…

He sat down on the window seat beside her and took hold of the piece of material draped across her lap.

‘Oh, be careful of the pins!’

He let it go. He had only focussed on it because he had not wanted to look into her face. Lest she see…what? A quickening of interest that she very obviously did not return? She thought him hard and unfeeling, full of his own importance. And worst of all dull. There was no worse character flaw a man could have in the eyes of a girl as lively as this. Had not Lucinda told him so often enough?

It took Helen a great effort to sit completely still. The material which he had dropped back onto her lap was warm from his hand. The fleeting sense that it might have been the touch of his hand on her leg had created an echoing warmth in the pit of her stomach. Which was even now sinking lower, to bloom between her thighs.

Oh, Lord, she hoped he had no idea how his proximity was affecting her! Why did it have to be this man, the one man she knew she could never have, who was making her respond in such a shocking way?

‘If you really would enjoy being useful, it occurs to me that there is a way in which we could help each other,’ he said, laying his arm casually along the edge of the windowsill.

Did he know that extending his arm like that made her feel enclosed by his arms? Was he doing it on purpose, to make her even more conscious of him?

And in what way could she possibly be of any help to him?

Unless she had betrayed her interest in him?

He had no need to marry, but if a woman was silly enough to let him know how physically attractive she found him, might he think he could cajole her into a brief affair?

‘I don’t think there can possibly be any way I could be of help to you,’ she said primly, averting her head. If he was going to insult her by suggesting what she thought he was, then she had no intention of letting him see how much it would hurt!

‘You said this morning that you do not have much experience with children, Miss Forrest. And it just so happens that there is a whole batch of them here. They have come with their parents, who have consigned them away upstairs with their nurses. If you wanted to gain some experience with working with children before you take up your first post, then here is an ideal opportunity.’

Experience with children. Of course. She let out the breath she had been holding, chiding herself for once again rating her charms far more highly than Lord Bridgemere obviously did. Here was she, thinking he was about to make her an improper suggestion, while nothing could have been further from his mind. Would she never learn?

‘The children of your guests?’ she echoed faintly. ‘You wish me to go and help…?’

‘I have already enlisted the services of Reverend Mullen. He has written the script, which he tells me he has based mostly on the gospel of Luke…’

‘Wait a minute. Script?’ She raised her head to look at him, quite puzzled. ‘What script? What are you talking about?’

‘I forgot. This is your first visit to Alvanley Hall, and you are not aware of the traditions that prevail.’ He leaned back, his eyes fixed intently on her face. ‘Each year I throw a ball for my tenants on Boxing Day, as part of my gift to them to reward them for all their hard work and loyalty to me throughout the year. Out at one of the barns on the home farm. The children who are brought by their parents to stay at the Hall always put on a little entertainment for them to start the evening’s festivities. The villagers always perform their mummer’s plays for me on Christmas Day, and so I return the favour by getting up this party for them. And, of course, it helps to keep the children occupied during their stay here.’

‘Of course,’ she echoed faintly, still feeling somewhat resentful that it had not occurred to him to make her a proposition. Which she would naturally have refused! But still…

‘So would you, then? Like to become involved in putting on the production for my tenants?’ Or did she consider it was beneath her to spend her time coaching the children to perform for rustics?

She was not quite sure how she could be of any help, since he had already told her that Reverend Mullen was writing the script and coaching the children through their parts. She had no experience whatever of amateur theatricals. And the children had their own nurses to see to whatever else it was they needed.

Yet it would be a good opportunity to see how the children of the very upper echelons of society were organised, even if she could contribute very little.

The experience would be of more benefit to her, she suspected, than to Lord Bridgemere.

‘Thank you, My Lord,’ she said through gritted teeth, wondering why his eyes had turned so cold. ‘I should find the experience most beneficial.’

It was ridiculous to let the Earl’s treatment of her hurt so much. It was not as if she had seriously believed there could ever be anything between them. And as for those brief flashes of feeling as though she was totally in tune with him…well, they had clearly existed only in her own mind. Lord Bridgemere might have paid her a little attention, but she could see now that it had only been to assess how he could make the best use of her.

‘Thank you,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I must leave you now. Cadwallader has arranged a full afternoon for me, and would be most put out if I ruined his timetable. Can you find your own way up to the nursery?’

‘If not, I can always ask for directions,’ she replied acidly.

She got to her feet and began tidying her work away as soon as he’d left the room. Though she disliked being on the receiving end of Lord Bridgemere’s demonstration of his organisational skills, she would appreciate the experience of working with some children before she took up her new post. Even though she had decided, when all the money had disappeared, that she would find consolation in moulding young minds in the way Aunt Bella had moulded hers, she was a little nervous about how exactly she would go about the task. Lord Bridgemere could not have hit upon a better way of helping her become accustomed to her new station in life.

Drat him.

Helen enjoyed the rest of the afternoon much more than she had expected. To begin with, the Reverend Mullen welcomed her with an enthusiasm that was a balm to her wounded pride.

‘Ah, good, good—His Lordship has managed to persuade you to lend your talents to our little endeavours,’ he beamed, when she entered the huge attic space which had been converted into a rehearsal area. ‘I have cast the children as best as I can,’ he said, ‘and rehearsed them once or twice, but they are in dire need of costumes. His Lordship told me you consider yourself a most competent needlewoman, and would be able to help on that front.’

Helen’s lips compressed as she recalled flinging those very words at Lord Bridgemere on the day she had rejected his offer of a new gown to replace the one Esau had spoiled.

But it was hard to stay cross for very long in the atmosphere of jollity over which the Reverend Mullen presided. He was scarcely any older than Nicholas Swaledale, she reflected, yet two youths could not have been more different. The Reverend was earnest, diligent and…well, worthy was the word that kept on springing to mind in his regard.

And the children, unlike their parents, all seemed to regard their visit to Alvanley Hall as the highlight of their year.

‘Christmas last year was horrid,’ said the tubby lad who was to play the part of Joseph, while she was measuring him for his costume. ‘Mama and Papa wanted us to keep out of the way while they had their parties. And they forgot all about us. We never got a big feast, like we had the year before at Alvanley. Will we be having a children’s feast, this year, Miss Forrest?’ he asked excitedly. ‘We had cake and jelly and ices last time, I remember.’

‘I do not know. This is the very first time I have been here.’

Immediately ‘Joseph’s’ expression turned pitying. ‘Never mind, you’re here now. Perhaps you will be able to come to our feast with us, and then you’ll see!’

‘I think I should like that.’ She laughed. Far more than the deadly formal banquet she guessed would be provided for the adults.

It would be wonderful to stay up here with the children and servants…

She sucked in a sharp breath. Why had she not seen it before? He had not invited her. She was here as the companion of Aunt Bella, nothing more. He had placed her in a room he’d told her was allotted to upper servants, and when he’d seen her making use of his library, as though she was a guest with the right to make free with the public rooms, he had sent her up here, where the Reverend Mullen could find fitting work for her to do!

She flushed angrily. He thought of her as a servant! It was not his wish to help her gain some experience with children that had prompted him to send her up here. No, he was just putting her in her place! Keeping her out of sight of his relatives, several of whom clearly objected to her presence.

‘Did you prick your finger?’ asked the pretty little girl who was to play the part of Mary.

When Helen had first come up here the child had run her eyes over her rather plain gown and looked as though she had immediately relegated her to the status of servant. But in spite of that she stopped sifting through the pile of materials that had been provided to make up the costumes the moment Helen gasped.

‘I am always pricking my finger when I sew my sampler. You should use a thimble,’ she said, nodding sagely.

‘Thank you,’ said Helen amending her impression of her as a haughty little madam. ‘I shall remember that.’

‘We get nice presents here, too,’ she said absently, resuming her search for something she deemed fit to appear on stage in. ‘All of us. Nobody is forgotten,’ she said, with such a wistful air that Helen suspected she must have suffered such a fate herself. ‘And we get to stay up really late to put on our play. And all the grown-ups watch us and clap their hands. Even Mama and Papa.’

Helen could barely refrain from putting her arms round the child and giving her a hug. Her words spoke volumes about the way she was usually treated in her own home.

‘I would rather they didn’t,’ said the slender boy cast in the role of the angel Gabriel, who was sitting on a nearby stool, glumly studying his copy of the play. He was clearly nervous about performing in front of an audience. ‘I would rather just stay up here with a book.’ He coughed in a most theatrical manner. ‘I don’t think I will be able to say my lines. I think I’m catching cold.’

‘You had better not, Swaledale,’ observed ‘Joseph’. ‘Or you will miss the skating.’

Helen looked sharply at ‘Gabriel’. If his name was Swaledale then he must be the younger brother of Lord Bridgemere’s heir. Now that she knew he was related, she thought she could see a resemblance. He did have a rather sulky mouth.

‘Miss Forrest,’ said ‘Joseph’, turning to her, ‘His Lordship has made a skating pond, especially for us children. We are all going to go down tomorrow if the rain holds off. Will you be coming with us?’

‘I am not sure,’ she replied, tight-lipped. The Earl had specified that he wanted responsible adults to watch over his precious young relations, implying that she did not qualify.

‘Mary’ pouted. ‘I expect it is only for boys. The girls will have to stay indoors and…learn lines, or something equally tedious!’

‘No, no, Junia, dear,’ said Reverend Mullen, who had been passing with a sheaf of scripts in his hands. ‘All the children are to gather in the stableyard, first thing in the morning, where a cart is to be ready to carry them to the pond. Those who do not wish to skate do not have to. They may watch. There will be a warm shelter where hot chocolate and cakes will be served.’

‘Joseph’s’ eyes lit up.

‘And did I not tell you, Miss Forrest? His Lordship particularly wants you to accompany the nursery party, since you are such an enthusiastic skater.’

‘Are you?’ said Junia, dropping a length of purple velvet and looking up at her wide-eyed. ‘Would you teach me to skate?’

‘Of course I will,’ replied Helen, suddenly understanding why her parents sometimes overlooked her. Junia, she recalled hearing, was the name of another of Lady Thrapston’s daughters. Her mother must have been furious she had produced yet another girl, when there, in the form of ‘Gabriel’, was the proof that her sister, Lady Craddock, had produced not only an heir for Lord Bridgemere, but also a potential spare.

As Reverend Mullen hurried away, bent on his next task, Helen’s mouth formed into a determined line. No child over whom she ever had any influence would be made to feel inferior because of their sex! She would make sure their accomplishments were applauded, their talents encouraged, and—she glanced at the slender, pale young ‘Gabriel’—their fears soothed.

Junia sat back and beamed at her. And Helen’s opinion of her mellowed still further. She probably could not help being a little haughty, considering who her mother was. The poor girl had clearly been taught that certain behaviour was expected of a young lady. But Helen was going to see to it that tomorrow, at least, she had the chance to break out in the direction her natural inclination carried her!

Then she turned to ‘Gabriel’.

‘You know, you do not have to say very much,’ she said, eyeing his script. ‘From what I have seen of the way Reverend Mullen has written it, you mostly have to stand there, looking imposing, while Junia recites the Magnificat.’

‘And keep the little angels in order,’ said Junia.

Many of the younger children, who could not be expected to learn lines, would be dressed as angels and simply moved about to represent the heavenly host watching over the events taking place in Bethlehem.

He sighed despondently. ‘They won’t mind me,’ he prophesied gloomily. ‘Nobody ever takes any notice of me.’

‘They might,’ said Helen on a burst of inspiration, ‘if you arm yourself with some treats as a reward for good behaviour.’

‘I say, Miss Forrest,’ he said, brightening up immediately, ‘that’s a capital notion. I might ask Cook for some jam tarts, or something!’

Helen had visions of half a dozen little angels, their faces smeared with jam. ‘Something like ginger snaps?’ she suggested. ‘Easier to stow in your pockets for distribution at the proper time. I shall go and have a word with Cook about it later on.’

How fortunate she had already mended fences below stairs, she reflected as Gabriel grinned at her.

Goodness! Helen was beginning to think she might have some natural talent when it came to dealing with children after all.

Chapter Seven

Alas, she had not so much success with adults!

The very moment she walked into the blue saloon that evening she felt out of place. And self-conscious because she had so badly misinterpreted Lord Bridgemere’s motives in singling her out for attention. Right now he was moving from one group of guests to another, playing the part of dutiful host. Something inside her squeezed painfully as she saw afresh that it was the duty of a good host to pay a little attention to each of his guests. And she had mistaken his willingness to spend a little of his time ensuring she enjoyed some of the beauty of his estate at dawn’s first light as personal interest in her. His subsequent attitude had shown her how he really viewed her.

And yet, even knowing this, she was still painfully aware of exactly where he was at any given moment. It was as though she was attuned to the low, melodious timbre of his voice. And, her attention having been caught, she could not prevent her eyes from seeking him out. And then she would feel deflated whenever she caught sight of the back of his head, his light brown hair gleaming in the candlelight. For he would always be intent upon somebody else. So far as he was concerned she might as well not exist.

It was even worse once they sat down to dine and she had an unimpeded view of him at the head of the table. For he talked quietly to those seated on his right hand, or his left.

And ignored her completely.

By the time the ladies withdrew, all Helen wished to do was escape to her bedchamber, where she might have some chance to wrestle her tumultuous feelings into submission.

But Lady Thrapston beckoned to her the moment she crossed the threshold, and she did not see how she could refuse her imperious summons to take a place on the sofa beside her.

Under cover of the noise her two daughters were making at the piano, Lady Thrapston fired her opening salvo.

‘I have been observing you,’ she said, with a grim smile. ‘And I feel obliged to warn you that your tactics will not work with Bridgemere.’

‘Tactics?’ Helen was so surprised that she hardly knew how to answer Lady Thrapston. They had a knack, she reflected wryly, Lord Bridgemere and his sister, of reducing her to parroting one or two words of their speech.

‘Do not play the innocent with me. You fool nobody with all that nonsensical talk about not wishing to marry! It is quite obvious that you have set your cap at Lord Bridgemere.’

Helen’s first instinct was to deny the allegation indignantly. She had just opened her mouth to make a pithy rejoinder when she heard her aunt laughing at something Lady Norton had said. And she closed her mouth abruptly. She must not let her temper get the better of her. Aunt Bella was still awaiting Lord Bridgemere’s verdict, and until then it would not do to create an even worse impression upon him than she had already done.

She contented herself by lifting her chin and glaring at Lady Thrapston.

‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ the haughty matron said. ‘But then what can you say in your defence?’

Helen wondered if she had just made a tactical error. For it looked as though Lady Thrapston thought her dart had gone home. Her next words confirmed it.

‘With my own eyes I have watched you making a spectacle of yourself. And let me tell you this. Fluttering your eyelashes at him over the soup plates is one thing, but it has come to my attention that you have now gone to the lengths of luring him to some out-of-the way spot in an attempt to compromise him.’

‘That is not true!’ Helen gasped. She had not done any luring! Lord Bridgemere had invited her to go out walking with him.

How dreadful that somebody had seen them and run to Lady Thrapston with such a tale. She felt quite sick that somebody disliked her enough to do such a thing, without a shred of evidence.

Especially since she would never dream of setting her cap at any man, or luring him into a compromising position.

But she had felt acutely disappointed that his attitude towards her had been so completely impersonal, she admitted to herself. And, her conscience whispered, she’d also had to chastise herself several times for entertaining inappropriate thoughts regarding Lord Bridgemere. Lady Thrapston had obviously noticed that she could not help finding him most attractive. Even when he had made it perfectly clear he was immune to her, she reflected with chagrin.

Her cheeks flushing guiltily, she said, ‘I am aware that His Lordship would never consider marrying someone like me.’

Lady Thrapston nodded grimly. ‘I trust you will remember that, my girl. If you know what is good for you, you will take care to keep well away from him for the remainder of your visit. It would not do for rumours of indecorous behaviour to accompany you to your new post, would it?’

Was this a threat? Helen reeled at the thought of the damage Lady Thrapston could do to her future if it was. A judicious word in her employer’s ear, from a woman of her rank, and her job could well disappear. Nor, if gossip spread about her supposed conduct, would it be easy for her to find another.

Helen wished she might make some clever, cutting rejoinder, but for once she knew it was imperative she keep her tongue between her teeth.

‘No,’ she whispered. She dared not risk antagonising Lady Thrapston, and have her spread unfounded gossip about her. What General Forrest had begun was bad enough.

‘You may return to your aunt,’ said Lady Thrapston, a small, but self-satisfied smile playing about her mouth.