His Mistress By Christmas (18 page)

“I do love sweets. I look forward to it.”

He turned to leave, then turned back. “Oh, and Veronica.”

“Yes?”

Sebastian pulled her into his arms. “Confusing you is not merely one of the things I do well. It’s one of my greatest pleasures.” He kissed her firmly, then released her. “It’s going to be a splendid Christmas.”

He grinned and left the library, his step confident, even jaunty. And, good Lord, was he whistling in the corridor?

And wasn’t she smiling after him?

Who would have imagined Sir Sebastian Hadley-Attwater would be the kind of man who would name his house? Or keep every book he’d ever had? Or want a house to be a haven? Or welcome the advice of a woman?

She had indeed missed him. More than she had expected, more than she’d thought possible. She’d thought of him every day, dreamed of him every night.

“Lady Smithson?” A woman Veronica assumed was Mrs. Bigelow stood in the doorway, a pleasant smile on her round face. “Sir Sebastian asked me to show you around the house.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Veronica smiled and followed the older woman out of the library. “I understand you were in service here as a girl.”

“I was indeed.” Mrs. Bigelow nodded. “And I don’t mind saying I am pleased to be back. We all are.”

“All?”

“Oh my, yes.” She nodded and led the way down the corridor.

“Sir Sebastian has made it a point to locate those who used to work here for the last owner or Lady Wellsby before him. Nearly everyone he has hired was either employed here years ago or has a relation who was.”

“I see,” Veronica said thoughtfully.

“He’s a clever man, Sir Sebastian.” Mrs. Bigelow pushed open a door. “This is the yellow drawing room.”

Veronica made appropriate appreciative comments, easy to do as the room was lovely, if in dire need of refurbishing, but her mind was on the house’s newest owner.

“Why do you say that? About Sir Sebastian being clever, I mean,” Veronica asked when Mrs. Bigelow led her out of the yellow drawing room and continued her tour.

The housekeeper’s eyes widened in surprise. “Because he is.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “He writes books, you know.”

Veronica smiled. “Yes, I was aware of that. Very good books as well.”

Mrs. Bigelow nodded with pride.

“Is that why you say he’s clever?”

“Not entirely.” Mrs. Bigelow paused. “When you work in a house like this, you become a family of sorts. Sir Sebastian has brought this family back together.”

Veronica nodded. “Very kind of him.”

“Not at all. Well, yes, he does seem to be a very kind man but . . .” Mrs. Bigelow sighed. “I’m not saying this right.” She thought for a moment. “Owners come and go in the life of a house. Oh, Lady Wellsby was born here and lived here until the day she died in her eighty-fourth year. A very nice lady, if a bit dotty at the end.” She lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “Some of us think she never left.”

“A ghost?” Delight sounded in Veronica’s voice.

“We think so, although it might not be Lady Wellsby. Or Lady Wellsby alone. It’s a very old house, you know, and hard to leave.” She shrugged. “At any rate, as I was saying, when Mr. Edgars bought the house, he retained much of the staff.” She sniffed. “Not that it mattered. He didn’t live here much more than a year and everyone was let go. For those of us who work here, our loyalties are not only to our employer but to the house itself. It’s a clever man who recognizes that.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Veronica murmured.

“Now, then.” Mrs. Bigelow nodded briskly and continued down the corridor. “Next, we are coming to . . .”

It took the better part of an hour for the housekeeper to show Veronica the rest of the manor before depositing her in a bedroom that adjoined Sebastian’s. A small bedroom off hers was provided for her maid. Mrs. Bigelow didn’t so much as bat an eye at the sleeping arrangements. Obviously, the new owner had already earned the unquestioned loyalty of his staff.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” Veronica said when the servant turned to leave. “I have an idea for a gift for Sir Sebastian. It’s somewhat silly, but I think he might like it. Unfortunately, it involves skills that are beyond my limited abilities. And I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

A broad smile spread across the woman’s face. “Anything, my lady.”

Veronica explained her idea. Mrs. Bigelow made a few suggestions and then took her leave, with a promise to have their project started by morning. The smile never left her face. Sebastian wasn’t the only one who knew how to engender loyalty.

In so many ways, Sebastian was more than she had expected. And while calling his various quirks endearing had become something of a joke between them, everything she discovered about him was indeed endearing. More and more with every passing day, the man was quite simply working his way firmly into her heart.

Was this love? It would certainly make everything much more complicated. It was one thing to feel affection for the man whose mistress she wished to be, quite another to love him.

Sebastian headed toward the red drawing room to join Veronica for tea, caught himself whistling a long-forgotten tune, and grinned. He hadn’t whistled like this since he’d been a boy. If anyone had pressed him in recent years, he probably would have said he couldn’t remember how. But here and now, in this house—in
his
house—especially since Veronica had arrived, all was right with the world. And whistling or humming or even dancing down the corridor was irresistible. One couldn’t feel this good without expressing it.

It had been an endless week. He’d missed her with an intensity he had never imagined. And she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. Oh, she hadn’t said it, but he could see it in her eyes. And in the way she had evaded answering his question and hadn’t protested when he’d said he planned to keep her here as long as possible. And especially in the way she’d kissed him casually, as if it were natural to do so. It was a good sign, a very good sign.

But then everything was good at the moment. The estate manager struck him as a decent sort and had come highly recommended. In fact, everyone he had hired thus far had proved to be competent and reliable. Yes, indeed. The woman he loved was under his roof, the roof was relatively sound, and Christmas was only a week away.

He had loved Christmas as a boy, had always thought it was the most perfect time of the year. He wasn’t sure when that love had faded. Once he had left home, it had been harder and harder to return. Twelve years ago, he had had the opportunity to join his first expedition to the Amazon and had jumped at the chance, in spite of his father’s disapproval. Wandering the globe in search of adventure was not a fit life for a Hadley-Attwater. It could scarcely be called a profession and was both irresponsible and juvenile. Hadley-Attwaters were expected to take their proper place in the world with an appropriate, respectable position, not waste their lives in pointless pursuits. Still, his father had not disowned him, nor had he prevented him from acquiring the trust each of his siblings received when they came of age. Funds Sebastian had relied upon until he had begun writing and lecturing about his adventures and had built his own fortune. But his father had died soon after Sebastian joined that first expedition, and there had never been the chance for reconciliation. In spite of their estrangement, Sebastian had never doubted his father’s affection, but he’d had no idea when he had last seen his father, it would indeed be the final time. He knew logically that his absence had nothing to do with his father’s death—the earl had taken a bad fall from a horse. Regardless, a vague sense of responsibility, and even guilt, had haunted Sebastian for years.

Since then, Christmas always seemed to find him in a foreign land. It had been impractical to hurry home simply for the holiday, or so he had told himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for his mother and the rest of his family. But at Christmas, much more so than during the rest of the year, he did not wish to be reminded what a disappointment he was.

Now, however, he was a property owner. He was staying in one place and was forgoing travel for the immediate future. His previous books continued to sell well, and he had no doubt his future fictitious work would prove equally successful. Demand for his lectures continued to increase. By any measure, he was not merely accomplished but responsible, even respectable. Surely it was enough for his brothers to give their blessing and allow him to come into his inheritance.

And, aside from all else, he had Veronica. Oh, she wasn’t his wife yet, but she would be. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind. While this year they would spend Christmas alone, perhaps next year they would join his family. It was past time really to lay the ghosts of the past to rest. Ghosts that, admittedly, might only be in his own mind. Yes, next year would be soon enough. Next year he would be ready. Next year he and his wife would join his family for Christmas. Even better, next year he would invite his family here for Christmas.

But this year, right now, this very moment, he was not merely content but happy. This would be the first Christmas of many yet to come and the only one when Veronica would be his mistress instead of his wife. And once she agreed to be by his side for the rest of their days, his life would be, well, perfect.

“Sir,” Stokes called from behind him.

Sebastian turned to see the butler hurrying toward him.

“Sir Sebastian, Lady Smithson is waiting for you in the red drawing room.”

Sebastian tried not to grin, but it wasn’t easy. He had a red drawing room, as well as yellow and blue drawing rooms, plus a billiards room and stables and at least one ghost. How very respectable. “Yes, Stokes, I am on my way there now.”

“I know, sir, but . . .” Stokes lowered his voice. “You have visitors who insist on seeing you at once. I put them in the morning room, which, I might note, is the farthest sitting room from the red drawing room.”

“Very well.” Sebastian turned and started toward the morning room. “Is there a reason why you put them in the morning room, or was it simply convenient?”

“Lady Smithson is in the red drawing room, sir.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Your visitors are female, sir, and quite demanding. And they refused to give their names.” He sniffed. “They wish to surprise you.”

“I have no idea who these women might be.” Sebastian drew his brows together. “But that doesn’t sound good.”

“My thoughts exactly, sir. Which is why I thought it best to keep them as far away from Lady Smithson as possible.” They reached the morning room door, and Stokes paused. “Some years ago, between my service here and my return to Greyville Hall, I was employed for a time as a valet to a young lord in London. Discretion forbids me from mentioning his name.”

“Of course,” Sebastian murmured.

“Suffice it to say, he was a most eligible bachelor with a penchant for fast living. In his employ, I learned the necessity of keeping one female
guest
away from another and the dire consequences of not doing so.” Stokes glanced from side to side, as if concerned that he might be overheard. “Never fear, sir. I am most adept in situations like this.”

“You have my gratitude, Stokes, but we don’t know what the situation is until I speak to these ladies.”

“Yes, sir.” Only the faintest hint of skepticism flickered in the butler’s eyes. He was entirely too well trained. “I shall remain here in the corridor, should you need me for anything.” He nodded and pulled open the door.

Sebastian stepped into the drawing room. Two familiar figures stood near the fireplace.

“Sebastian!” Bianca turned toward him, a delighted smile on her face. “What a marvelous house this is! We can’t wait to see the rest of it.”

Miranda beamed. “We never expected anything like this. It’s so grand and imposing.”

He stared in stunned horror.

“We never thought you’d buy anything, well, nice.” Bianca shook her head. “So impressive and most distinguished.”

“We thought you’d get something . . . oh, a token, really,” Miranda said. “A cottage perhaps or a house in town. Just something so that you could say you were staying in one place. Something respectable, but not, well, not this.”

“This”—Bianca eyed him firmly—”is the house of a country gentleman who intends to stay put for a while.”

“We can’t tell you how pleased we are,” Miranda added.

“Mother and everyone will be thrilled.”

“What are you doing here?” He could barely choke out the words.

“We’ve come for Christmas, of course.” Miranda rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, as if the answer was obvious.

“And to meet your new wife.” Bianca nodded. “We know you planned to spend Christmas alone with her—”

“Which we still think is terribly romantic.” Miranda nodded.

“But you haven’t been with us for Christmas since before Father died.” Bianca shook her head in a chastising manner. “Surely you didn’t think we’d allow you to spend your first Christmas back in England without us? Or that we’d wait to meet your wife?”

Miranda scoffed. “After all, Christmas is a time of new beginnings. And what better time for your wife to meet her new family than this?”

He stared at his sisters. “But you weren’t invited.”

“Goodness, Sebastian.” Bianca shrugged. “We’re family. We don’t need an invitation.”

Miranda frowned. “But you’re obviously not pleased to see us.”

He gritted his teeth. “You noticed that, did you?”

Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not being very hospitable.”

“My apologies,” he snapped. “You two appear unexpected and uninvited and you expect me to be pleased?”

The sisters traded glances.

“Well,” Miranda said slowly. “Yes. We rather thought you would be delighted.”

“We wanted to surprise you.” Bianca sniffed in indignation.

“You have certainly done that. Now . . .” He jerked his head toward the door. “Get back in your carriage and return to London. Or go to Waterston Abbey. Anywhere but here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bianca settled on a sofa and met his gaze defiantly. “We have no intention of leaving.”