Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas (11 page)

Chapter 4

H
is tongue seemed
bent on creating no end of problems today, thought Noel with a rueful grimace. He sat back on his haunches, twining the length of ribbon around his fingers as he cast a sideways look at Emma. The two spots of color on her cheeks and the rigid set of her jaw indicated that despite her show of unconcern, her feelings had been wounded.

His lips compressed. He hadn’t meant to be cruel. It was just that her offer had taken him by surprise. So, for that matter, had her behavior with Toby. She had been nice to the lad. And patient, which he well knew was not always easy with an energetic five-year-old.

The trouble was, he wanted to keep thinking of her as naught but a spoiled heiress, for to allow even a hint of regard to develop might be. . .

Dangerous.

He slanted another quick glance at her profile—the rich blue of her eyes, the pert tilt of her nose, the lush fullness of her mouth, and the hint of vulnerability in her expression—then looked quickly away.

Lud, she was quite the most lovely lady he had ever met, and if he were not careful, he would might start behaving like the drab, common moth who finds itself drawn inexorably toward a bright, shimmering flame.

Dangerous indeed.

Uttering a silent oath, he stood up abruptly and held out the orange and the jar of spice.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was ill done of me. I would be grateful for your help, if you still wish to offer it.”

It was Emma’s turn to hesitate. “You needn’t ask me just because you feel you should be polite.”

Noel allowed a wry smile. “As you may have noticed, I am not overly concerned with the social graces.”

She gave a tentative smile in return as she accepted the proffered items. “The thought might have occurred to me.”

“Actually, I am simply being pragmatic,” he added dryly. Uncorking a can of linseed oil, he began to wipe down the dingy wainscoting around the fireplace. “I could use a hand if I am to finish making things cheery for Anne and Toby by Christmas Eve. It is their first holiday without—” He caught himself. “But that is hardly any of your concern.”

“Do I really seem so incapable of caring for anyone except myself?” asked Emma in a tight voice.

“I did not mean—” He felt a flush rise to his cheeks. “That is, I simply did not

mean to burden you with my problems.”

Emma already rearranging the nubbed cloves into neat rows. “Was your sister’s husband a soldier like you, sir?”

“No, he had a small estate near Lymington. When an epidemic of influenza swept through the area, he and Anne insisted on tending to their servants. “

Though naturally reserved, Noel soon found it was easier to talk to Emma than he had ever imagined. She listened well and asked thoughtful questions. And any doubts that may have lingered as to her character were quickly put to rest by her quick intelligence and lively sense of humor. It was soon clear that she was not the shallow, conceited young lady he had first taken her to be.

And as he managed a bit of probing of his own and learned something of her own background, he found that the outer show of bravado hid a far more sensitive nature. Indeed, the more they talked, the more intriguing she became.

Dangerous
. The word once again began echoing a warning inside his head.

Noel barely noticed how much time had passed until Anne and Toby returned, followed by the housekeeper who, along with his sister, was carrying a tray of food.

“Since it would be uncomfortable for you to move to the dining room, Lady Emma, I thought we would join you for an informal supper here,” announced Anne, venturing a stern look at Noel as if she expected him to protest.

“An excellent idea,” he murmured, standing up and wiping his hands with a clean cloth. “May I fix a plate for you, Lady Emma? You have certainly earned a bit of sustenance with your labors.”

Emma laid aside the last of the oranges. “I am almost done with these, so you had best find me another chore so that I may deserve breakfast,” she replied in a bantering tone.

Anne ducked her head to hide a small smile, but tactfully refrained from making any comment on the marked change of attitude in both her brother and their guest.

“Emma, Emma! I have brought my spillikins, and my pony for you to see.” Toby was quick to climb onto the sofa beside his new friend and dump an armful of wooden toys in her lap.

“Perhaps you would care to dine alone in your room,” said Noel quietly. “As Anne said, things tend to be rather more informal here than you are used to.”

Emma was already admiring the gaily-painted animals. “I should prefer to stay here,” she replied. “That is, if you have no objection to my joining your family meal.”

“You are welcome to remain.” He handed her a plate, then gathered his nephew in his arms and tossed him up in the air. The little boy shrieked with delight as Noel caught him and turned him upside down.

“Here now bantling, you must leave Lady Emma in peace for a bit.”

Toby grabbed at his uncle’s knee, and gave a yank to the well-worn top of his boot. Noel pretended to trip, and collapsed to the floor. The two of them wrestled for a few moments before the boy emerged from a tangle of limbs and plopped down on Noel’s chest with a thump.

“I give up,” cried the baron in mock surrender. “I see I shall have to engage in a series of lessons with Gentleman Jackson himself if I am to have any hope of victory in the future.” He sat up slowly and brushed a mass of tangled locks from his brow. No doubt after this display of behavior, Lady Emma would find him to be a very odd sort of gentleman—as well as ill-tempered—compared to the polished, well-mannered bucks of the ton.

And what of it?

Giving an inward shrug, he turned and added another log to the crackling fire, trying to ignore the flicker of desire stirring inside him.

Between Toby’s eager chatter and Anne’s polite questions to Emma concerning holiday traditions of the area, the meal passed quickly. Noel waved away his sister’s offer of help and removed the supper tray himself. When he returned, he brought back her basket of greenery and another box filled with assorted items for fashioning decorations.

Anne hesitated as she picked up a bough of fresh-cut holly. “We could take our work to the kitchen so that we don’t disturb you any longer, Lady Emma. You must be rather exhausted.”

“Oh, please don’t go,” replied Emma. “I should hate to miss all the fun.”

And good fun it was, she found herself thinking a short time later, when everyone was engaged in making the room look cheery. Noel had begun to hang the clove-scented oranges from the freshly waxed mantel, while Anne was arranging bouquets of fragrant pine boughs in earthenware jugs and along the windowsills.

Meanwhile, Toby was busy cutting out lopsided paper snowflakes with a pair of blunt scissors. The boy’s peals of laughter punctuated Noel’s gentle teasing of his sister, and a cozy warmth filled the room—not just from the flames dancing high in the newly polished hearth.

How had she thought the baron a cold, unfeeling man? reflected Emma. He was certainly neither. Recalling his playful antics with his nephew and his undisguised concern for his sister, she was moved by the genuine show of his feeling, so unlike the bored ennui affected by many of the gentlemen of the ton.

She paused for a moment in finishing the last pomander ball, and suddenly felt a small knot form inside her chest. There was a palpable spirit of love and kinship surrounding her companions. Lord Kirtland and his family might lack for blunt, but they had something infinitely more valuable, she realized with a start. Something that many people would gladly pay a fortune to possess.

As she watched the flicker of the flames, Emma bit her lip and thought of the endless rounds of balls, routs and house parties she had attended over the last year. And it suddenly struck her that between all the flatteries of her admirers and the swirl of new activities, she had become rather too caught up in the pursuit of superficial pleasures. Her father, her brother and her cousin—she had become so self-absorbed that they had become almost strangers. That the prospect of missing bit of revelry because of a twisted ankle had seemed a dire calamity only showed how shallow her feelings had become.

She felt a sharp pinch of shame on comparing her trifling misfortune to that of Mrs. Hartley.

No wonder Lord Kirtland thought her a spoiled brat.

Emma watched as the baron paused in his labors to help Toby thread a ribbon through one of his creations. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Anne staring pensively into the fire, a sad expression stealing to her face as she thought no one was looking.

“Mrs. Hartley,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Do you and your brother plan to visit London this spring?”

“Why, I—that is, Noel hasn’t ” she stammered.

“I daresay you would enjoy it immensely. Though I cannot vouch the same for Lord Kirtland.”

Anne looked rather startled.

“No doubt he would be forced to spend much of his time fending off a host of your besotted admirers.”

“Oh, w-what an absurd notion,” mumbled the young widow in some confusion. Her cheeks, however, took on a pretty pink glow. “I—I am much too old to attract a second glance from a gentleman.”

“I would love to show you some of the shops on Bond Street,” continued Emma, ignoring the other lady’s blushes and stuttering. “I know any number of dressmakers and milliners who would delight in the opportunity to fit someone with such a pretty face and lovely figure.”

Anne’s blush deepened to a vivid shade of red. “Y-you are simply being kind,” she whispered, though it was clear the compliment had affected her deeply. She cleared her throat. “I have read in
La Belle Assemble
that to be fashionable, one must purchase a bonnet at Madame Therese. Is that true?”

“Oh, as to that, I should advise you to visit a little shop off of Bond Street where the prices are not only better, but the styles more flattering and the workmanship superb. ”

The two ladies then fell into an animated discussion on fashion, which soon turned into a description of the various balls and assemblies that Emma had attended during the past Season. Anne hung on her every word, and even Toby stopped with his tossing of the spillikins to listen to the descriptions of the colorful gowns, lavish suppers, and the latest music from the Continent.

“London!” cried the little boy when Emma paused for a bit. “Uncle Noel, can we see the horses at Astley’s while Mama and Emma dance a waltz? And taste the treats at Gunther’s?”

The baron’s expression was hidden in shadow. “We shall see, imp.”

Before Toby could make any further demands, Noel scooped him up from the floor and tossed him over his shoulder. “Come, give me a hand in fetching more wood for the fire,” he said, giving a quick wink at his sister. “I have learned that men are never welcome when the ladies fall to discussing these sorts of topics.”

When the two of them returned a short while later, Emma had brought a spark of merriment to Anne’s eyes and a smile to her lips with a humorous account of some musicale gone awry when the featured singer had imbibed a glass too many of champagne. The sound of their laughter took several minutes to die down.

“Lady Emma, do tell Noel the story of Mr. Patterson ending up in Lady Chalford’s fountain,” urged Anne as she stifled another giggle.

“I shall be happy to do so if you are sure he will not be bored by it—but please, you must simply call me Emma. All my friends do.”

The young widow blushed again, this time with pleasure. “I would be happy to do so, if you will do me the honor of calling me Anne.”

The intimacies agreed upon, Emma dutifully recounted the requested incident, drawing a chuckle from the baron and a quizzical look from Toby.

“How can a gentleman be in his cups?” demanded the boy. “Even if he were as small as me, he would never fit more than several toes in such tiny things.”

“Quite right, lad,” replied Noel dryly. “Perhaps in another few years I shall be able to explain to you just how such an odd thing can come to pass. But not now.”

“Why not—”

A warning glance from his mother caused the protest to die on his lips. “Oh, very well,” finished Toby, trying hard to conceal a yawn.

Not fooled in the least, Anne rose from her chair. “I think that a certain young man is ready for bed,” she murmured, watching her son’s chin slump to his chest. “If you will excuse us, I shall take him up to his bedchamber.”

She flashed a shy smile at Emma. “I am sure that you, too, have had enough excitement for one day. Noel will assist you up to the guest room, and I will be along to help you settle in as soon as I have seen to Toby.”

An awkward silence descended over the room once she and the child had left. The baron took up the poker and turned to jab at the dying flames in the hearth while Emma carefully refolded a length of ribbon. A log hissed and crackled as it fell from the andirons, causing her head to jerk up.

“Well, I suppose I had best see you settled for the night, then.” He approached the sofa, hands jammed in the pockets of his coat.

Emma felt her cheeks go as red as the glowing coals at the thought of being taken up in his arms again. Embarrassed by how much the idea sent a frisson of heat through her, she shrank back against the cushions.

“M-my ankle is really much better. I am sure I can manage the stairs by myself if you will just steady my arm.”

“And risk further injury?” He shook his head, a grim expression coming to his face. “Not a wise strategy, Lady Emma. I, for one, do not wish to have to report to the duke that his daughter’s condition was made worse while under my roof by another act of foolishness that I might have prevented.”

Like the banked fire, his voice had lost all of its earlier warmth, and the chill of his tone was matched by the rigid line of his jaw.

So, she thought to herself, he must still think of her as a willful, spoiled termagant. No doubt he had been merely feigning the apparent thaw in his feelings in order to please his sister.

Although the notion of it hurt far worse than the throbbing in her ankle, Emma was determined to mask her own true feelings as well as he had done.

Other books

Atlantis Unleashed by Alyssa Day
Sunrise Over Fallujah by Walter Dean Myers
Wind Dancer by Jamie Carie
Diagnosis Death by Richard L. Mabry
Jilted in January by Kate Pearce
In the Roar by Milly Taiden