The Christmas Heiress (9 page)

Farmington Manor. Edward's heart skipped a beat.
The growing sense of unease he had felt since leaving Town early that morning intensified. What had
initially seemed like a plausible idea at the beginning of the week was not nearly as appealing in reality at the end of the week.

Though not superstitious by nature, Edward
could not totally dismiss the strong premonition that assaulted him. Trouble lay ahead. Why even
the air felt charged with tension, much like the
swirling winds announcing the coming of a violent
storm.

If not for the man by his side, he might very well
have turned his horse in the opposite direction and
ridden directly back to the railroad station. Yet having
come this far, Edward knew Jonathan would not allow
him to retreat until he had set foot inside the front
doors of the manor and spoken with their mother.

The uneventful and surprisingly swift train ride
from London had lulled Edward into a false sense
of ease, had pushed aside the possibility that true
difficulties might await him. Jonathan had taken
care of all the trip details, easing the burden further,
making certain that a fine pair of horses and a lugage coach were waiting for them at the station.

The brothers had elected to finish the journey on
horseback, taking advantage of the opportunity for
some fresh air. Alas, the ride also gave Edward an
opportunity to think upon his upcoming reunion
with his mother, and those thoughts were far from
pleasant.

"It won't be long now," Jonathan announced, as
if sensing his brother's reluctance. "Try to cease
looking like a fox run to ground."

Edward regarded his sibling with a jaundiced eye
before twitching the reins of his mount and moving
his horse down the long hill. Jonathan imitated his
actions and fell in step behind him.

They took a well-used path along the edge of the
forest, avoiding the bustle of the local village that was
clearly visible through the trees. Edward was pleased
to note that the rambling village of his boyhood was no longer a sleepy backwater but a thriving town,
thanks in part to his investments in the area. He saw
several new shops, a tavern and an inn. These new
business, as well as the older ones, looked well maintained and prosperous.

"Hampstead seems busy," Edward commented.
"The main thoroughfare is crowded with carts and
carriages and it isn't even market day."

"Ah, yes, some of the locals even complain about
traffic on the roads and a stifling feeling that overshadows the refreshing country climate now that
we have new shops, as well as a third tavern,"
Jonathan replied. "Makes one wonder how they
would react if they ever set foot in London."

They moved beyond the village and through the
forest. Edward could almost feel his blood leap with
recognition as they came into the clearing. Lifting
his head, he scanned the horizon. His breath
caught. Edward had forgotten the sheer grandeur
of the estate. Acres and acres of finely landscaped
parkland lay stretched before him, as far as the eye
could see. Even in their dormant winter state they
were beautiful.

He was struck with an unexpected bolt of melancholy when that special feeling of homecoming hit
hard. Bloody hell, he had missed it all much more
than he had realized, and yet in order to endure
the loss, he had over the years suppressed a deepseated longing to return.

When they finally reached the long front drive,
Edward deliberately slowed the pace of his horse.
He ambled along, allowing his senses to absorb the
achingly familiar sights and sounds that seemed to
soothe his weary soul.

They passed beneath arched gates and Edward
caught sight of the family crest emblazoned on the
wrought iron. Thoughts of his father swarmed his
mind and he turned, meeting his brother's eyes.

Jonathan smiled encouragingly. "'Tis the same as
it has always been," he said quietly. "Lying almost
dormant, waiting for you to return."

Edward had convinced himself that he was prepared for this, but he suddenly realized he was not
prepared at all. Aware that he had been leaning forward on his horse, he sat back in his saddle, trying
not to let his irritation get the better of him.

It was then that he noticed the figure of a woman
walking along the side of the house. She followed
the stone path that ran beneath the first-floor windows, her stride long and purposeful as she rounded
the corner and headed for the front door. However,
she must have heard their approach because she
stopped suddenly, pivoted and turned toward them.

With relief, Edward realized it was not his mother,
but a considerably younger woman. Still, there was
something that struck him as oddly familiar about
her. She was tall and slender, yet the fine red wool
cloak she wore could not conceal her well-endowed
bosom. Her features were distinctly aristocratic. Delicately arched brows and lush lashes framed a pair
of large eyes. Edward was not close enough to verify
their color, but a flash of memory told him they
were green.

"Charlotte Aldridge," he muttered in an astonished voice.

Jonathan, riding beside him, apparently heard
the remark. "Ahh, yes, 'tis Charlotte. I was uncertain
if she and Lord Reginald would be joining us this year. They visit often, but not usually during Christmas. Apparently they will be staying for the holidays,
along with many of the usual family and friends.
Isn't that splendid?"

It had been a long, stuffy carriage ride, unusually
bumpy and uncomfortable, even though the coach
had been one of her grandfather's finest, a plush
conveyance made for long journeys. Somehow her
grandfather had slept through most of the trip,
forcing Charlotte to admit her discomfort was
probably not due to the coach or the condition of
the road, but rather her unease over the destination at the end of it.

Farmington Manor. Miraculously, she had visited
the estate numerous times after that first disastrous
Christmas holiday, but never again in December.
The countess had been generous with her invitations, and after realizing that Edward was never in
residence, Charlotte had agreed to accompany her
grandfather whenever he asked her to join him.

Somehow, visiting during the middle of a budding
spring or spending a delightful summer month as a
houseguest had a healing effect on Charlotte. Farmington Manor was a beautiful estate, with an almost
magical charm. When the atmosphere was thick with
the perfume of flowers, the fountains spouting an unending stream of water and every blade of grass
meticulously groomed, the memories of the winter
cold and those stolen kisses beneath the mistletoe
were forgotten.

Yet the usual peace and delight she experienced
when first arriving at the manor was absent today. Instead, a headache had plagued her since lunch.
Craving exercise and hoping the fresh air and sunshine would ease the pain of her pounding head,
Charlotte set off on a walk.

"Shall I accompany you?" her maid asked. "Or
would you like me to see if any of the other ladies
are interested in taking some fresh air?"

"I prefer to be alone," Charlotte admitted. "If I stay
on the grounds within sight of the house, it should
be acceptable for me to venture off on my own."

Realizing it was never a good idea to offend the
countess on the first day of her visit, Charlotte
skirted the edge of the terraced gardens. She followed the graveled path that led to the stables,
keeping herself in clear view of the manor, but
avoiding the windows so others would not readily
see her. She waved cheerily to the stable lads, but
did not stop to admire the horses, since she carried
no treats with which to spoil them.

By the time she had walked the full length of the
rear courtyard, her headache was much improved.
Feeling infinitely better, Charlotte followed the
stone path around the side of the house and headed
for the front door.

The crunching sounds of horse's hooves on the
main drive caught her attention. She turned to investigate and beheld two finely dressed gentlemen
on horseback coming up the drive. One of them
waved. She immediately concluded they were
either afternoon visitors coming to pay a call or additional houseguests.

It was hardly her role to greet them, yet it would
be rude to disappear inside the house, since they
had obviously seen her. Charlotte smoothed the front of her red wool cloak and patiently waited for
them to arrive at the front portico.

The sun was positioned at a low angle, almost directly behind the men's heads. The small brim of
her fashionable bonnet offered no protection, forcing Charlotte to squint into the bright glare. It
made little difference; she still could not see their
faces. With a small sigh of annoyance, Charlotte
lifted her arm and positioned it over her head,
shielding her eyes from the harsh light.

The riders came into clear focus. Tensing, Charlotte squinted harder, adjusted her arm and told
herself the light was playing tricks with her vision.
She easily recognized the rider on the left as
Jonathan Barringer, and for an instant she thought
the other man was his older brother, Edward.

That, of course, was ridiculous.

Though he was now the earl, he never came to
Farmington Manor. If he did, Charlotte would not.

She moved forward a few paces, out of the harsh
glare, then froze. It was impossible! Unable to contain
the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips, or ignore
the bolt of chilling dismay that ran through her
body, Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head
sharply, willing the unpleasant vision to go away.

But when she opened her eyes, he was still there,
regally perched upon his horse, coming ever closer.

Edward Barringer, Earl of Worthington!

"What in the name of all that is holy is he doing
here?" Charlotte asked herself in alarm.

There was a moment of sheer panic when Charlotte thought her grandfather might have planned
this, but she quickly realized that she had been the one, not her grandfather, to insist on accepting the
countess's holiday invitation this year.

Charlotte knew the countess and her son were estranged. She had been told, by several very reliable
sources, that the earl never visited the manor.

And yet here he was.

For an instant she was paralyzed by something
that felt like fear. It seemed to take all of her
strength just to keep breathing. The sight of the earl
reminded Charlotte vividly of the pain she had felt
at his rejection of her, but even more distressing, it
reminded her that long ago she had possessed the
capacity to love unconditionally, uninhibitedly and
recklessly.

And now she no longer did.

Charlotte told herself it did not matter. Six years
ago she had been a foolish young girl, unaware of
the disappointments and heartaches of life. Now
she knew better.

Yet try as she might, Charlotte had never been
able to forget how it had felt to be in his arms. The
gentle erotic pressure of his mouth on hers, the compelling pleasure of his kisses, the knee-weakening
promise of utter fulfillment. With sheer force of will
and strong determination, she had consigned the
memory to her past, burying it deep, but it had
haunted and shaped her future.

For six years she secretly feared he was the reason
she had never been able to accept any of the several
worthy men who had courted her and begged for
her hand in marriage. If only she understood why
it had been so different kissing him. Then perhaps
she could at last move forward with her life.

The riders were coming closer. In a matter of moments they would be at the front portico. Pulling
herself together, Charlotte straightened her spine
and thrust back her shoulders. Then she lifted her
chin and met the earl's gaze, staring at him with cool
disregard.

At first his face was blank, as if he was having difficulty remembering exactly who she was or why she
might seem familiar to him. Boldly, Charlotte took
a step forward, noting his color heightened.

Apparently, he did remember her. Yet judging by
the astonished expression on his face, it was clear
he had not expected to see her.

The years had been kind to him. He was still an
attractive man, sleek and elegant in his finely tailored riding clothes. The dark hair peeking out
from beneath his beaver hat was thick, yet highlighted by a few streaks of silver at the temples.

Age and maturity had added character to his face
along with a potent masculine virility. Charlotte was
angry with herself for noticing.

"Good afternoon, Charlotte." Jonathan's greeting was warm and friendly, a reflection of his good
humor and innate kindness.

"Hello, Jonathan. How wonderful to see you
again," she replied truthfully.

"Miss Aldridge." The earl lifted his hand to his
hat and tipped the brim. His face was impassive,
save for the frown indentations between his brows.

The contrast between the two brothers could not
have been more striking. Jonathan was all relaxed
smiles and joviality while the earl's manner was unbending, lacking even the merest hint of a smile on
his lips or in his eyes.

"My lord," Charlotte replied. Good manners dictated that she should curtsey, but Charlotte
discovered she could not bend her knee to him.

The earl seemed on the verge of saying something more, then checked himself and mumbled
softly beneath his breath. His horse stomped and
snorted impatiently, but he controlled the animal
effortlessly with his strong thighs.

Where were the footmen? Or the stable hands?
The normally efficient servants were nowhere to be
seen. Charlotte wished she was close enough to the
front door to pull the bell, but she was not and it
was too presumptuous even for her to bellow for
another man's servants in front of him.

"I'll go and see what's happened to the staff,"
Jonathan said with an easy grin. "These horses deserve a fine meal and a long rest. As do the riders."