Greetings of the Season and Other Stories (30 page)

Aside from the logic of Lord Boughton’s appearing at this time, there simply could not be many other such nonpareils as her highway accoster. But if by some chance there should ever happen to be a more handsome, more virile, more commanding gentleman—not that she thought he was gentlemanly, not by half—well, he wouldn’t be riding through Upper Ossing.

The libertine from the lane was the earl, all right, from his famous elegant tailoring to his fabled standing among the de
mim
onde. And now he was standing in Gerry’s shabby parlor with a bouquet of flowers in one hand. Roses, no less, and this December. If his clothes or his confidence did not proclaim the rogue’s worth, the roses would have. And there she was, in a faded gown, likely with stains and spots from the ivy she’d been braiding for the mantel. At least she’d managed to wash away the stink of yesterday’s dousing; now if she could only get rid of his lordship so easily. He was everything she disliked in a man: arrogant and immoral. Like others she’d met during her London Season, the earl thought his wealth and title could buy him respect and affection. Likely they did. Then he’d gamble it all away on the turn of a card or a turned-down sheet, while others did his work, his worrying. No, Gerry did not admire his lordship’s ilk at all. Of course the earl’s dark good looks were another matter altogether.

She made him her best curtsey without offering her hand, which was all scratched from the holly’s prickers. Then she indicated the best chair. No, Ranee had been sleeping there this morning and the pillows were covered with tawny cat hair, just the color to show well on his midnight blue superfine coat. She sat in it herself before her knees gave way, nodding him toward the uncushioned wooden desk chair.

The earl didn’t sit, but took to pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. What, the rug wasn’t threadbare enough? But Gerry felt reassured by this sign of his lordship’s unease. So the care-for-no-one nobleman had a conscience after all. Feeling generous, she began: “Lord Boughton, there was no need for you to come here. I assure you our previous encounter is better forgotten by both of us.”

“No,” he said. “I had to come, Miss Selden, to ascertain your well-being and that of your, ah, small companion.”

“We are both unharmed by the incident, my lord, thank you.” She was not about to tell him how stiff and sore she was, nor how half the scratches on her arms were from Bandit’s bath.

“Yes, well, I am pleased to hear that. I most sincerely apologize, both for my careless riding and…and the other.”

“The other?” Generosity only went so far.

“For, ah, mistaking you for a country lass, Miss Selden.”

“You ‘mistook’ me for one of your light-skirts, my lord.”

“I can only beg you to excuse my behavior on the grounds that I am not used to ladies wandering around by themselves or dressed with such practicality.”

He must mean frumpish, Gerry thought, frowning, and ignorant of polite behavior. “Your so gracious apology is accepted, my lord,” she snapped at him. “And my conduct was less than genteel in return. There, now we are quits, and you do not have to keep looking at the doorway to see if my brother is going to rush in and challenge you to a duel over my honor. I would not be so nonsensical as to mention the contretemps to anyone, and I trust you will do the same.” She stood, declaring the visit at an end. “Will that be all?”

“Not precisely.” Boughton started to shred one of the roses he still held in his hand, so Gerry took the bouquet away before he damaged the perfect blooms. “Oh, yes, quite. With my regards.”

Taking pity on his discomposure at last—truly she’d thought a nonesuch would have better address—she asked after his daughter. “A charming child. I was sorry to hear she was ill. I trust she is improving, else you’d not be out making calls.”

“Yes, Sammy. Thank you. Quite a remarkable recovery, actually. That’s why I’ve come, you see.”

Gerry frowned. “Not to tender an apology?”

Devil take the woman, Brett thought. Must she make everything so deuced difficult? “Of course that was first in my mind. But I did have another mission also. I should like to purchase one of your kittens for my daughter.”

“No.”

“No? Just like that? Come now, you cannot hold my behavior against an innocent child. Sammy has her heart set on a kitten.” And he had his heart set on seeing the last of this plain-speaking pocket-venus who
seemed to rob him of his manners, his morals, and his masterful way with women. “Surely you’ll reconsider, for a price.”

So now he thought she was mercenary! Gerry strode toward the door, leaving him to follow. “For one thing, my lord, my kittens are not for sale. I
give
them to those who will love them and care for them, and not let them breed with the kitchen Tom or a stray. You do not fulfill my requirements, my lord, with your hedonistic, pleasure-seeking way of life. Look how you cared for your own child.”

He chose not to. “Then think of that child. You cannot be so heartless as to deny a dying girl her wish, can you?”

“You said yourself she is recovering nicely. And if she were not, the last thing she’d need is a helpless creature to take care of.”

“I have a battalion of servants, Miss Selden. Surely you do not have to worry that the kitten will not be cared for.”

“What, after Lady Samantha returns to her aunt’s and you return to your travels, do you really think those servants are going to brush the cat daily, and make sure it never gets lost? My cats are used to a great deal of affection. Can you swear that your servants will provide that, too?”

Brett countered with the one argument he was sure of: “Sam will not be returning to her aunt’s. She’ll be lonely here in Ossing.”

“Then she needs playmates, sisters and brothers, a parent’s love. No, you shall not use one of my cats to make up for your own failings. Good day, my lord.”

Lud, how had such a simple thing as purchasing a cat become so involved? Since when did a fellow have to pass a court-martial to be deemed worthy of a rat-catcher? And how the devil was he going to tell Sam there would be no pug-faced furball for her on Christmas? “I beg you to reconsider, Miss Selden, for Sammy’s sake.”

“And I beg you to leave, my lord. I don’t like you and you don’t like cats.”

“Of course I do.” He couldn’t recall being in the same room with one of the creatures, but saw no reason to mention the fact. He couldn’t recall being in the room with a woman who disliked him, either, but that was a problem for a different day. “The little bugger, ah, baby in the ditch surprised me, is all.”

“If you liked cats, you’d have one.”

Her smug tone was grating on Brett’s temper. And her pursed lips were crying out for kisses, which would not help his cause in the least, he was sure. He took a deep breath and said, “I like giraffes, Miss Selden, and I do not have one of those either. Try me with a cat. That’s the only fair test.”

Gerry nodded, and went into the hall, making odd bird-call noises. In a moment, a large, extremely fluffy black cat with a plume of a tail and a nub of a nose strolled into the room, wrapping itself around Miss Selden’s legs. “This is Mizra Khan, the sire of most of the kittens I breed. If you sit down, he will come to you.”

He sat on the sofa, and sure enough, Mizra Khan leaped up alongside him, butting his head against the earl’s sleeve. The earl tried to school his features into not showing distaste at the innumerable cat hairs left on the fine wool. “There, it likes me.”

“He wants his ears scratched.”

So Brett scratched the cat’s silky ears, and was rewarded with a loud rumbling purr. Then he took out his quizzing glass on its ribbon and let the cat bat at it awhile. He grinned up at his hostess, his puss-prowess proven, when Mizra Khan stepped closer, onto his lap, in fact, and began to knead the earl’s thigh with his front paws. The claws dug in, catching on the fawn-colored breeches, catching on the earl’s skin beneath. Brett gingerly lifted the cat down to the floor in a controlled hurry, then glanced at Miss Selden to see if she disapproved. The cat, meanwhile, had discovered the tassels on Lord Boughton’s Hessians and was swatting at them. “Playful chap, isn’t he?” the earl asked, bending to pat the cat and subtly push him away from the mirror-surfaced boots. Mizra Khan had other ideas. He stood on his back legs and started to use those unblemished boots as a scratching post. “I say!” Brett said, giving the cat a firmer shove, at which Mizra Khan sank his teeth into Lord Boughton’s thumb.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted, clutching his bloodied finger. “Now I suppose I’ll have to worry about contracting some dread disease!”

Gerry was already cuddling the cat. “Silly kitty, now we’ll have to worry about you contracting some dread disease. Good day, my lord.”

*

The earl was in a taking when he rode back to The Boughs. He did not even visit the nursery until he’d had half a bottle of brandy, and soaked his thumb in the other half.

“Did you get it, Papa? Did you get my kitten?”

“Hush, poppet. You wouldn’t want to ruin your Christmas surprise, would you?”

*

The earl was in Ossing, thought Eustace. How fortunate. Now he could go ask about Gerry’s necklace in person.

Interrupted amid the new stack of correspondence that had been delivered from London, Brett did not believe young Selden wanted the necklace for his sister. The handsome young baronet likely had a ladybird somewhere and was too embarrassed to admit it, the mooncalf. For sure the woman Sir Eustace was describing bore no relation to the harridan Lord Boughton had twice encountered. Good-natured and giving? Hah! She hadn’t given him one of the blasted cats, had she?

And the necklace was undoubtedly in Charleen’s grasping hands by now. He could easily get it back, the earl knew, by promising a more expensive bauble, but the lad had no money and no claim to the pearls. He did, however, have something the earl wanted very badly.

“You’ll trade me the pearls for one of m’sister’s kittens?” Sir Eustace scratched his head. “I don’t know, she’s that particular about where they go. If she turned you down, she must have had good reason.” He paused, but the earl was not about to discuss Miss Selden’s mutton-headed motives. “Technically, the cats are half mine, as our uncle meant the first pair for both of us. But I would never go against m’sister’s wishes in the matter.” From what he’d seen of the earl’s grand estate, though, Stacey could hardly imagine a better home for anyone, feline or otherwise. And he realized how foolish his attempt to purchase the pearls had been. Why, the earl had more blunt than Golden Ball. “I’ll have to think on it, my lord.”

“You do that,” Boughton told him, going back to his paperwork. Damn, what he wouldn’t give for a secretary! “I say, you wouldn’t perchance be interested in a position, would you?”

* * *

The earl was in Ossing, what an opportunity! Euan Mactavish was not one to let an opportunity slip by, b’gad. He hadn’t made his fortune by waiting for it to fall into his lap, by Jupiter, and he wasn’t going to let this chance, or this earl, pass him by. The chap just might be looking for a sweet young thing to mother his little girl, an unspoiled beauty who wouldn’t
min
d being left in the country while the earl pursued his own pleasures. Boughton might be above his Ginger’s touch, but Mactavish had nothing to lose by trying, and a title to gain. So the merchant decided he’d throw a fancy dinner to welcome his nibs back to the neighborhood. Ginger would have a new gown, and sparklers enough to dazzle even a London buck, and she’d impress the nob with her ladylike ways and her ability to run a gentleman’s household. The only problem was, his Ginger could barely order herself a cup of tea, much less a dinner for a top-of-the-trees toff. He sent for Miss Geraldine Selden.

Gerry did not
min
d in the least being hired on to plan a lavish entertainment at her old home, in addition to her sessions with Miss Virginia, and she was pleased with the extra income. She was that much closer to being able to make Squire a respectable offer for the mare. What Gerry could not approve, however, were the plans Mr. Mactavish confided in her for his daughter’s future. Miss Virginia was a sweet child, and Boughton would eat her for breakfast. Whatever poise Gerry had managed to instill in the lovely innocent would be drained away by one of the earl’s dark scowls. And if he kissed her, as the rake was wont to do with every female who crossed his path, Gerry supposed Miss Mactavish would dissolve in a puddle of tears. She was already red-eyed and swollen-faced, likely from crying over her father’s ambitions to throw her at the neighborhood’s most eligible and elevated gentleman. Fortunately, in Gerry’s mind, Ginger now had the kitten Bandit to console her.

*

The earl was in Upper Ossing, and what a pawky little village it was, too, with barely a decent shop. But if Boughton was at The Boughs, that’s where Charleen, Lady Trant, was bound.

The earl was not pleased to see her. He didn’t used to be so stuffy, she told him, but he didn’t used to think of himself as a parent, either. A gentleman simply did not stable his convenient alongside his family. Charleen was deuced inconvenient, in fact, even if she had brought her old auntie along as chaperone to satisfy the conventions. That wouldn’t satisfy one brown-eyed beldam who already thought he was a womanizer. Besides, the aunt was stone deaf, and twice as short of sight as Charleen. D
amn
. And he couldn’t throw them out until he had the blasted necklace. Young Selden had turned out to be an excellent secretary, for one thing, and Brett still had hopes of trading for the kitten, for another. But Charleen was not parting with the gewgaw, not even when he said that his solicitor must have made an error, that he’d meant the pearls as a gift for his daughter. Not even when he said a diamond and ruby necklace would be waiting for Charleen in London. No, now she
wan
ted more before she’d leave
him
in peace. Now she wanted one of the blasted exotic cats Sammy was raving about. Double damn.