Simmer All Night (9 page)

So what had Chrissy learned from all this pondering? On a bright, golden dawn she'd gazed out over the sapphire sea and swore that when she loved, she would give her heart wholly and unconditionally. If ever there was to be a man in her life, she would demand the same in return. It was, she thought, the only way loving should be done.

With that decided, she had settled back to enjoy the days at sea. The children made the trip a delight, and even their coach trip from Liverpool proved to be a pleasure. Normal sibling squabbles remained at a minimum, and with her children happy and out of reach of her in-laws, Lana relaxed and laughed often. It gladdened Chrissy's heart, as did the fact that her friend suffered not a single headache since leaving Texas.

Now, however, as they traveled the last few miles of their journey, Chrissy suddenly wished she had never left San Antonio. Never in her life had she been this nervous.

Searching desperately for a distraction, Chrissy followed Michael's lead and turned her attention to the passing countryside. The land here in Derbyshire lived up to her mother's claims of beauty. Fluffy white sheep dotted green rolling hills, and the hedges of holly and hawthorn provided fencing much more pleasing to the eye than the strands of barbed wire now spreading across Texas like a plague.

Momentum shifted her forward in her seat as the coach topped a hill, then she swayed to one side as it made a slow turn. She spied a quaint arched stone bridge and smiled at the ducks perched along one edge. Only after the approaching coach sent the birds flapping toward the water did her gaze lift to the distance and the stately house nestled between lake, hillside, and forest. "Oh my," she breathed, bracing a hand against a cushion to steady herself, as much against the sight before her as the rocking of the coach. Michael whistled softly.

At the sound of her voice, Lana and Sophie joined Michael and Chrissy at the windows. Sophie gasped. "Miss Chrissy, look at that palace! Is that where the Queen lives?"

Chrissy gazed down at the imposing Palladian facade of the great stately home and found it difficult to breathe. "No, the Queen doesn't live here, although according to my mother, she has visited a time or two. That's Hartsworth and it's a country house, not a palace. My mother described the fountain. We've arrived."

"This is it?" The little girl wriggled in her seat. "I get to live there? Just like a princess?"

Lana smoothed her daughter's hair and gently reminded, "Honey, don't forget that here at Hartsworth we work for Miss Chrissy. We're her servants. We are not here to play princess."

Chrissy took the girl's hand in one of her own and squeezed. "You and I will play princess while we're here, I promise. And Lana, we may have to play this servant-mistress nonsense in public, but I'll be hanged if I have to listen to it in private."

The trio fell silent as the coach made its way along the serpentine road toward Hartsworth. Chrissy couldn't take her eyes off the building, shifting windows to keep it in sight as the coach changed direction. A dramatic central portico dominated the main block of the house while curved corridors at each corner linked four pavilions to the center of the structure. Three stories tall with a dressed stone facade, it seemed to stretch on forever. Chrissy counted over eighty windows on the front side of the house alone. "No wonder Mother always said Hartsworth was filled with light."

Michael, displaying an unusual measure of insecurity, blew out a heavy breath, then gazed at Chrissy. "Are you certain he'll let us stay here?"

Because Chrissy didn't want to lie, she said, "I'm not completely certain, no. Since we may well have arrived before my mother's letter informing the earl of my impending visit, we might face a few uncomfortable moments, but I doubt he'll turn us away. He and my mother were estranged for many years, and I don't think he'll risk a return to the hostilities."

"What did they fight about?" Sophie asked.

"My father. The earl wanted her to marry someone else, but she eloped with my father."

"Oh."

The coach rattled over another ancient stone bridge and began the final approach to the house. As a footman came out to meet the coach, Michael asked, "What are you going to tell your grandfather? Will you say you ran away?"

"I didn't run away," Chrissy snapped, nervousness adding an edge to her tone. "I left a few days early is all. But I won't tell him that. I'm going to say I've come to England in search of the Declaration of Independence."

"But that is Mr. Morgan's job," Lana protested.

Chrissy made a valiant effort at a smug smile as the coach rolled to a stop. "Yes, it is. And wouldn't it be fun if I found the document before he got here?"

Moments later they passed through the front door into Hartsworth's Great Hall. As a servant went to inform the earl that his granddaughter had arrived from Texas, the newcomers gazed around them in awe. Huge alabaster Corinthian columns rose from a stone floor inlaid with Italian marble to support an arched, painted ceiling, a mythological scene Chrissy couldn't quite place at the moment. Marble statues occupied niches set symmetrically around the room.

"Look, Mama," Sophie called, her voice incredulous. "You can see the boys' talleywhackers on those statues."

Busy gazing above him at the naked breasts on the ceiling, Michael jerked his head down and followed the path of his sister's stare. He muttered something Chrissy couldn't quite catch and clapped a hand over Sophie's eyes. "What kind of house is this? A painted' lady place?"

"It's nothing nasty, Michael," Lana explained, glancing toward Chrissy with a plea in her eyes. "Right?"

"That's right. It's art. Those sculptures are probably worth more than my mother's entire house."

"No," Michael said.

"Yes."

"Whoa, think of what they'd be worth if they'd finished putting clothes on 'em." Then, shooting Chrissy a look of concern, he added, "I don't think it's good for Sophie to be around such a sight. You and Mama either, for that matter. It's not seemly."

As Chrissy turned away to hide her smile a flash of color in the corridor leading off to her right caught her eyes. Paintings. Then, drawn as if by an invisible string, she moved toward them. "Portraits," she murmured.

The first was of a man of fifty or so wearing some sort of ceremonial robe. Distinguished, she thought. Hard. The next was of a woman with haunting eyes in a sapphire blue dress and triple strand of pearls. A beautiful woman.

Chrissy moved on to the third portrait and mid-step, she froze. Shock washed through her. She knew the face. She knew the locket. But for the dress and the hairstyle, she could have been looking in a mirror.

From behind her, Sophie said, "Miss Chrissy? I think you had better see this."

"Look, honey. Do you know who this is?"

The name came in a man's voice, one brimming with emotion. "Elizabeth? Is it you? Have you finally come home?"

Her heart pounding, Chrissy slowly turned around.

He looked nothing like the grandfather she'd always pictured him to be. He looked exactly like the grandfather she'd always wished she had.

Thirty years or so older than the man in the portrait, the Earl of Thornbury had softened around the edges. His hair and mustache was snow white, his face mapped with lines, his body still tall and straight, but leading with a belly politely termed plump. He'd an air of kindness about him, a gentle mien, despite the disappointment that bloomed in his eyes as he got a good look at her.

"You're not Elizabeth."

"No, I'm her daughter, Christina. I'm your granddaughter."

Then the Earl of Thornbury did the most amazing thing. He threw open his arms, smiled with delight and cried, "Chrissy! My little Texas rose. Come give your granddaddy a hug."

* * *

An hour later they sat in a pair of wing chairs before a fire laid in the Italian marble hearth of a cozy room called the little library. It had been love at first sight between the two of them, especially once the earl welcomed Lana and the children as honored guests instead
of
servants. As her friend settled her children in their rooms in Hartsworth's family wing, Chrissy joined her grandfather for a cup of tea and a bit of get-to-know-you conversation.

They spent some time discussing her mother and brother. Once she'd caught him up on family news and events, talk turned to the reasons behind Chrissy's surprise visit to Hartsworth. His softspoken encouragement and unflinching support opened the floodgates. She rattled on about the Chili Queens and her mother's disapproval. She told him about her aborted trips to the altar and basically filled him in on events all the way back to the brothel incident that got her sent away to school.

"So I'm a harridan and a flirt and an all-around disgrace, Grandfather. Mother sent me to you because according to her you are a strict disciplinarian who will keep me in line."

The earl frowned and turned a contemplative face toward the crackling fire. "I understand why your mother would feel that way. I was a petty tyrant during her formative years, especially after her mother died. But it surprises me that Elizabeth would send you to me." Wry amusement lit his eyes as he said, "After hearing your stories, I must tell you it sounds to me as if you and your mother are very much alike."

"Me like Mama?" She sputtered a laugh. "Not at all, Grandfather. My mother is the perfect lady."

"She was a perfect trial when she was your age, believe me. I was harsh on her, true, but I always acted with the best of intentions. I was right sometimes, wrong others. I did the right thing breaking up her first engagement. I shouldn't have interfered with her romance with your father."

"Mother had a beau before my father?" This was news to Chrissy and it annoyed her in light of all broken-engagement scoldings Elizabeth had delivered.

"She did. Jilted him at the altar. Dealt her reputation a blow, it did. I'd a devil of a time convincing the Marquess of Rushton that Elizabeth would take his suit seriously. Then she made a liar of me. Fell for your father, instead. Younger son, no title. I was furious with the girl."

If she hadn't seen the portrait, Chrissy might wonder if she'd stumbled into the wrong country house. This did not sound like her mother one bit. "Is that what led to your estrangement? You didn't like my father?"

"I liked Delaney well enough. Didn't want him for my Lizzie."

Lizzie?
For ultra-proper Elizabeth? Chrissy sat in shock as the earl continued.

"Mainly I resisted their plans to leave England. In hindsight, I recognize my efforts to prevent the move to Texas caused my daughter more than her share of grief, and I don't blame her for holding it against me for so many years. One of my greatest regrets is that we didn't reconcile before your father died. I owed him an apology."

Chrissy's thoughts were in a whirl. "What did you do?"

Her grandfather winced. "I'm ashamed to say, child. Suffice to say your mother was well within her rights when she swore she'd never set foot in England again. She's kept that promise, too, even after all the letters I've sent since our reconciliation begging her to come home." His mouth twisted in a rueful smile as he added, "You inherited your stubbornness from your mother. She gave new meaning to the word."

"I'm not stubborn."

He arched a brow. "Of course you're not. You only crossed an ocean to make a point."

Chrissy scowled at him. "I came to make a new life for myself."

"I see." He folded his hands, steepled two fingers, then thoughtfully tapped his mouth. "So, what kind of 'new life' are you looking for, my dear? What do you want?"

It was Chrissy's turn to stare pensively into the fire as she sipped her tea. Finally, she sighed and said, "I want a home. I want a family."

The earl sat up straight in his chair. "You want to live in England permanently? You want to marry an Englishman?"

She shrugged. "I want children, so yes, I imagine I must have a husband. I don't care what nationality he is."

"What traits do you care about?"

Love without conditions. Acceptance for who I am.

Her teacup rattled the saucer as she set it down. "Oh, I don't know."

"Well let's figure it out, shall we?" The earl pushed to his feet, chortling with delight and rubbing his hands together. "What a glorious, glorious day this is," he said as he gave the bell pull a tug and gave the servant who responded instructions to summon his secretary to the little library. "We've a list to make, my dear. A wish list. Tell me what it is you require in a mate. I'll have a nice selection here within the fortnight."

Chrissy's brows rose at his enthusiasm. Still, she was thrilled with her grandfather's welcome, and since she couldn't see what it would hurt to fall in with the spirit of his game, she settled back in her chair and provided an outline of her version of the perfect man. "Not that such a thing exists," she explained, "but it never hurts to reach for the stars."

Later that night, after Chrissy helped Lana tuck Sophie and Michael into their beds, the two women settled down in Chrissy's elaborately appointed bedroom for a cup of chocolate and a rehash of the day. Chrissy relayed the high points of her conversation with her grandfather, including her list of preferred masculine attributes.

After saying their goodnights, Lana headed for the door connecting Chrissy's bedroom to hers. There, she paused. Glancing back over her shoulder, she presented a picture of perfect innocence as she observed, "Chrissy, about your perfect man list. Tall, strong, handsome, intelligent and the rest. Do you know who those traits you named remind me of? Cole Morgan. Isn't that a coincidence?"

His image flashed in Chrissy's mind as she mentally reviewed her list.
Oh, no.
Somehow, she managed a laugh. "Cole Morgan a perfect man? Lana, my dear friend, you must be dreadfully tired. You're delirious."

"Am I?" she asked with a wise smile. "Or are you denying it just a bit too hard?"

* * *

Cole arrived at Hartsworth, appropriately enough, in a driving rainstorm. It was a fitting end to a truly miserable trip. Not a single cloud had shadowed the brilliant blue sky when he'd set out early that morning from the inn. Anxious to see an end to his travels, he'd purchased a horse—which was a polite term for the nag he rode—and made arrangements for his baggage to be sent later. An hour following his departure, clouds began to build, then thirty minutes after that, the sky opened up.