The Christmas Heiress (16 page)

Everyone laughed. "The earl will do the honors of
selecting the first person to stir the pudding," Cook
continued as she handed him a large wooden spoon.

He cast a thoughtful glance among the eager,
smiling faces crowded together in the kitchen.
Though she tried to act nonchalant, Charlotte felt
a warm blush creep into her cheeks when his eyes
came to rest on her. For an instant she thought he
was going to extend the spoon in her direction, but
instead he moved beyond the houseguests and
whisked it toward the youngest housemaid.

"Me?" she squeaked, her face lighting up with
delight.

There were cheers and shouts from the staff and
approving nods from the guests. Clutching the
spoon close to her chest, the maid nervously moved
to the worktable and stared down at the large bowl.

"Give it a good turn, girl, and be sure to do it from
east to west, in honor of the three kings," Cook instructed. "And don't forget to make a wish when you
stir. I'll be dropping three coins into that pudding and whoever finds a coin in their serving will have
wealth, health, happiness and their wish come true."

"It smells heavenly," the maid exclaimed with awe.

When she was finished, she nodded toward another of the housemaids, who eagerly came forward. She in turn signaled one of the grooms, a
bold fellow who stirred the concoction with a flourish and then bowed to the earl.

He stepped forward and took his turn as if it were
the most important task of his day, selecting Lord
Reginald to follow him. The older gentleman exhibited nearly as much delight as the young maid in
being selected. He stirred the pudding enthusiastically, then called for Lord Haddon.

"Bring your pretty little daughter over here,
Haddon," Lord Reginald commanded. "Never too
young for a child to learn about having fun at
Christmas time."

The viscount placed his hand over his daughter's
and they moved the spoon together. Lady Haddon
managed to do a plausible job with her one free
hand, as she held her son in the opposite arm. She
signaled for Charlotte to be next.

Charlotte accepted the spoon with a smile, Cook's
words about making a wish reverberating in her
mind. It was a silly notion, to be sure, yet there was
certainly no harm in allowing for the possibility of a
wish coming true. But first she had to make one.

So many thoughts and ideas swirled through her
head and she quickly picked the first one. May I
someday find a man who truly loves me, for only then will
I marry.

Charlotte blushed, surprised at her wish, momentarily fearful that others might know what she had been thinking. Sternly telling herself that was impossible, she passed the spoon to Jonathan.

He made a motion as if he were going to lick it
and everyone laughed. Then he turned to Cook.
"Will you put any gold rings into the mix so the
finder will get married in the coming year?"

Cook's expression turned crafty. "I might be
throwing one or two in there, sir. But I'll leave out
the thimbles and buttons, so no one will be finding
themselves forever staying a spinster or a bachelor."

"Good for you," Lord Haddon said. "I always
thought that was a depressing tradition, at odds
with the spirit of the season."

Jonathan and his brother exchanged a quick look,
then Jonathan turned and offered the spoon to their
mother. Charlotte noticed the countess had been
smiling earlier, but her lips flattened suddenly as if
she was worried someone might have seen her joy.

Her expression was focused and solemn as she
stirred the fragrant pudding. Charlotte could only
imagine what the older woman's wish might have
been. The earl and his mother had pointedly kept
themselves on opposite sides of the room. Was the
countess hoping for a true reconciliation with her
son? Or would she prefer that he left at the earliest opportunity?

Charlotte feared it might be the latter, then wondered why she should even care. Yet oddly, she did.

The remaining guests and servants took their
turns and then Cook pronounced the pudding was
ready to be boiled. Everyone clapped and cheered.
Cook turned the mixture onto a cloth, shaped it
into a round ball and then slyly pressed several gold
coins and two gold rings into the batter.

She pulled the ends of the cloth together and
tied the package tightly at the top of the ball before
placing the pudding into a boiling pot of water.
Once the pudding was cooking, the servants scurried out to attend to their many duties; the houseguests followed at a more leisurely pace.

As she made her way toward the archway, Charlotte felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew, even
before turning around, it was the earl.

"I am organizing a party to search for a Christmas
tree later in the week. I do hope you will be joining us."

"The weather has turned cold," Charlotte remarked. "Your stable master told me he believed it
would snow soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow."

"Then we need to locate the tree as soon as possible, before the forest is covered in snowdrifts," the
earl replied. "I shall consult with my mother regarding the other planned activities and set the earliest
date and time available. Will you come along?"

There was a pause as Charlotte tried to read his
expression. She had the strangest notion that her
answer was very important to him. Then the gleam
in his eye was gone, replaced by a polite smile.

"I would be delighted to attend the outing,"
Charlotte replied.

"Excellent." He touched her hand briefly before
bowing and taking his leave.

Her skin prickled at the contact of his bare flesh
against her own, but Charlotte sternly told herself that
sudden shiver of anticipation she felt meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

Jonathan sipped on a glass of port, his eyes glued
to the doorway of the library, his ears attuned to
every sound beyond it. He had been waiting for two
hours and his patience was finally rewarded when he
heard Evelyn's light, quick step crossing the hall. His
mother was out visiting the vicar and his wife with
several of the female houseguests, so Evelyn was unencumbered by her duties. Now was the perfect time
fora private conversation. If he could get her alone.

She had not met him in the library yesterday as
he had requested. The disappointment he had felt
when he realized she was not coming was acute.
Compounding his hurt was the marked change in
her behavior. They had always enjoyed an easy, relaxed relationship, but after their stolen kiss yesterday afternoon, Evelyn had clearly been avoiding
him. When they did happen upon each other, she
was polite and distant.

He hoped for a chance to speak with her when they
all gathered to stir the Christmas pudding, but she
never once glanced in his direction. The celebratory spirit of the occasion had been ruined for Jonathan.
It all felt dull and flat without Evelyn's warm smile cast
upon him.

Jonathan stepped into the hall and approached
her. She was moving slowly, her head bent low as
she read the contents of the single sheet of paper
she held. A list of instructions from his mother,
most likely.

"Miss Montgomery, I need to speak with you.
Please step into the library."

Her head jerked up, her color instantly deepening. "I am busy, Mr. Barringer. I have numerous
items that require my immediate attention."

"No doubt. But this will only take a moment."
Still she hesitated, prompting him to add, "I really
must insist."

"Very well, sir," she replied, an unusual edge of
hostility in her voice.

Jonathan followed her into the library and closed
the door.

"The door must remain open," she said primly.

Jonathan exhaled a noisy breath and gently
clicked the latch shut. His gaze did not move from
her face and she returned his stare with a steady, unfriendly glare of her own. The silence was charged
and heavy.

Jonathan drew out the chair on his right, but she
shook her head. "I will not be staying that long."

Since she would not sit, he too remained standing, walking toward her until they were toe to toe.
"Why do you run from me, Evelyn?"

She stiffened. "I will not answer that," she said
sharply. "May I go now?"

Jonathan found himself fighting down a cold crush of disappointment. He knew it was not going
to be easy, but her open hostility was such a strong
barrier between them. "I cannot bear to see you so
uncomfortable in my presence," he said in a soft
tone. "Am I really such an ogre?"

"You know that you are not an ogre. But you must
see that I cannot possibly ... that there is no point ...
we cannot-" Evelyn's words broke off. "I am sensible
woman, sir."

"You are far more than that, my dear," he replied
in a silky tone. "You are lovely and witty and kind,
well, except when you are dealing with me."

He waited for a smile, any crack in the wall she
had erected between them. But alas, none was
forthcoming.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"I want you. "Jonathan caught her hands before she
could bolt from him and drew them to his lips. He
looked down into her face, acutely aware of the tug of
desire, the compulsion she so effortlessly evoked just
by being so close. "You are everything I have ever
wanted, all I ever need. I burn for you, Evelyn."

Her cheeks flamed and she threw a dark glance
at him. "You must not say such things. You must not
even think them."

"I cannot control my heart, dearest."

Her back visibly flinched. For an agonized moment,
they stared at each other, at odds not over their feelings but their differing belief over whether or not
there was even a possibility that they could share a
future together. Jonathan sighed, knowing that she
would not waver in this, fearful that she would not realize that their love could be stronger than any obstacle she thought they faced.

Finally, Evelyn made a little mewing sound and
turned away. A strand of her hair tumbled down
and Jonathan longed to reach for it.

"We cannot go on like this," he whispered. "At
least before we were friends of a sort. And now ...
now you will barely glance at me."

"I am your mother's paid companion. I should
never glance in your direction."

"My God, Evelyn, you cannot mean that. Surely
you think better of yourself."

There was a moment's tense silence. Evelyn
looked pained. It tore atJonathan's heart to see her
so distressed, yet he knew not how to fix it.

"Do you not understand what I think of myself is
of no importance?" she wailed. "I am fortunate
indeed that the countess even considered hiring
me. I do not say this to be vain, but young women
with decent looks rarely find employment as companions. And I am far younger than most who work
in the same capacity."

"And far more beautiful," he supplied.

"Employers do not appreciate beauty. Older
women do not want to be reminded that their looks
are fading, their beauty is gone." Her eyes flashed
with anger. "My role is to be invisible. To dress modestly, to attract no masculine attention, to fetch and
carry when asked, to write letters and read the
same book aloud over and over, because 'tis my mistress's favorite, and to smile while I am doing it."

She drew a shuddering breath and continued, her
voice rising passionately with each sentence. "I am
destined to live a solitary life, an outsider looking in
on the world. It is not my place to offer opinions or share my feelings, I know all too well that no one is
interested in them, no one cares about them."

"I care."

She pressed a hand to her eyes. "I am resigned to
my fate, Mr. Barringer. Please accept it, as I have, so
that we may both find contentment and peace."
Her small smile trembled, then vanished.

Jonathan's heart sank. This was going from bad
to worse. She was slipping away from him before he
even had a chance to win her heart. The room was
cold and silent, the only sound was the howling
wind outside as the chill of the winter day seeped in
through the window and the sputtering crackles of
the fire tried to stave off the inevitable.

Evelyn turned to leave. He hesitated but a
moment and then quickly followed, coming to her
side as she reached the door. Jonathan stuck out his
hand to grasp her arm, intent on stopping her.

Evelyn stiffened. Even that brief contact set off a
spark of heat between them. Slowly, Jonathan lowered his face to hers. Her eyes instinctively widened
and a sigh shivered through her. Jonathan kissed
her hair, her temple, her cheek, then pressed his
lips to her ear.

"You have to learn to trust me," he murmured.
His hand caressed the back of hers where she
gripped the doorknob.

"It will be disastrous if I do." She closed her eyes
and swallowed hard. "For both of us."

"I have no adequate words for the sensations
rushing through my body, no clear way to convey to
you the depth of the emotions I am feeling."

"Then do not speak of it, do not even acknowledge it." Her voice was so calm and steady he would have thought she was unaffected by his declaration,
but her breathing was too rapid and shallow, the
pulse at her neck visibly beating at too frantic a
rhythm to confirm indifference.

Jonathan drew in a deep breath, held it, then let
it out slowly. He knew he could physically prevent
her from leaving, and was appalled to realize how
strong that instinct was inside him. But he had
heard the little catch in her voice, had known how
hard it was for her to turn away from him. He could
not cause her such pain.

And so he once again let her go. For now.

But his frustration mounted. He reached for his
wine goblet and finished the contents. He thought
about refilling his glass, but decided against it. This
sort of situation called for a clear head. He would
be no closer to finding a solution by getting drunk.