The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (13 page)

“Well, I suppose you must,” Helen agreed. “Tell you what. I’ll prevail on Mama and Papa, and ask them if you can be our guest over the Christmas holidays. You can come with us to Danby. Then, if Richard manages to come home for Christmas, you will be there when he arrives. We shall have plenty of time to make you into his type of young lady.”

“That is a capital plan.” Frances twitched the curtain closed. “I know your papa will allow it, Rosie.”

Yes, yes he would. Papa thought any opportunity for Rosamond to mingle with “the Quality” could only improve their standing in society. It was a rather disgraceful way to look upon her friendship with the Carews, for she would have liked them all whether they were poor as church mice or as wealthy as, well, they were. Some people were just jolly company. Despite their sometimes scatter-brained ways, Helen and Frances truly were her dearest friends.

“Very well.” She gave them a brave smile. “If your parents truly don’t mind, and if you feel you can make me into a diamond of the first water, then I should love to spend Christmas with your family.”

While she loved her friends, she doubted very much that they had the necessary skills to make her into Richard Carew’s type of young lady. She much preferred to walk the pastures of her father’s estate, or to care for the animals in his barn. She was, at heart, a country girl. On the other hand, if she didn’t act soon, she might be on the shelf forever. She was eighteen years old, and without a beau in sight.

How did the old proverb go? It would be like making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Graveleon Head, Yorkshire

December 20, 1816

Rosamond glanced around her borrowed room. This would be her home over the Christmas holidays. She turned slowly, taking in each piece of furniture and each picture. The room was old-fashioned and gracious, mellowed from passing years, unlike her own bedchamber. Her father’s home was newer, rawer, and possessed little charm. In fact, it was a trifle sterile. It was much nicer to be outdoors at home, to imagine that the rolling pastures touched the sky.

She stretched out her hands to the welcoming fire in the grate, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the mantle. She had never been apart from Papa over the Christmas season, but he had encouraged her, most heartily, to accompany the Carews to Danby. “Think of the connections you’ll make, my dear Rosie,” he had effused, clapping his hands together. “The old duke is most well-respected. Being a guest in his home can only add to our social polish.” And then, Papa had practically pushed her out the door.

Her smile wasn’t for these much-heralded social connections. No, her smile was for the possibility of seeing Richard again, and for spending the holidays with her two friends. For if she were home, and they here in Yorkshire, it would be a very dreary Christmas indeed.

The door opened, and Frances and Helen bounded into the room.

“Rosie, my dear, we have a most excellent plan,” Helen effused, taking her by the hand and whirling her about on the oriental carpet. “We only just thought of it, but it will solve all of our problems.”

Rosamond let go of Helen’s hands, her head spinning. “What plan?”

“It’s just this.” Frances, the more practical of the two, took over. “You see, Richard likes women who are flirtatious and daring, beautifully gowned, and so forth. Well, we will not only make you into a diamond of the first water while you are here, but we will also have you practice your whiles on Anthony.”

“Practice on Lord Bexley?” Rosamond’s stomach dropped like a stone. She had not yet recovered from accidentally stumbling into his arms that day at Thurson Grange. Even on the journey to Yorkshire, she had been hard-pressed to suppress a blush whenever she was in his company.

“Yes. Just think of it.” Helen giggled with delight. “Anthony must be feeling rather low, being recently jilted and all, and having the attention of a pretty girl would certainly boost his spirits. Practicing on Anthony would also give you the chance to hone your skills at flirting, which are sorely lacking.”

“Helen.” Frances spoke sharply, as though giving her sister a warning.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true,” Helen retorted. “Rosie knows she’s no flirt.”

“Yes, I know,” Rosamond murmured. She wasn’t ashamed of her lack of coquettish skills, and yet there was something altogether humbling about this proposal. As if, somehow, she wasn’t good enough for Lord Richard. There wasn’t anything wrong with being quiet and somewhat diffident, but often she found herself apologizing for not being more than she was.

“So that’s the plan,” Helen continued after a brief pause. “What do you think, Rosie? Shall we begin?”

“Are you so certain that Lord Bexley will want my attentions?” Rosamond’s face heated with embarrassment. “He’s so different from Lord Richard. He may think I’m just a silly little nonentity.”

“That may be true.” Frances sank into a velvet chair by the fire. “But all men like some sort of attention from women. It could very well be a balm to heal his heart. We all heard what Mama and Papa and Grandmama were saying. They intend to find him a match as soon as possible, to help mitigate the scandal Genny caused. That’s why we’re here. Our great-uncle is a master matchmaker. He will simply point to a girl, and Anthony will have to propose to her.”

Somehow, Rosamond seriously doubted this. Lord Bexley might indeed be obligated to find a wife, but he certainly did not seem like the kind of man who was easily led or persuaded. She kept her counsel, however. It didn’t seem right to speak her mind on the matter—as though she had made a serious study of Bexley’s character.

“Enough of this chatter,” Helen pronounced. “Let’s get to the fun part. Gowns, hair, jewels, and the like.” She stepped back, giving Rosamond a searching glance from the crown of her head to her slippered feet. “We must do something about your hair first.”

Rosamond put a defensive hand up to her head. Her hair had always been a trial. It was brown, and curly, and almost impossible to keep neat. “What are you going to do to it?”

“Sit down.” Helen waved her over to the dressing table. “I have to see what I have to work with before I can decide. We’ve always done our own hair, for we prefer to dress ourselves. Now let us try out our skills on you.”

Rosamond sat, and allowed Helen to remove the dozens of hairpins she had used to coil her locks into some semblance of decency. Helen ran her fingers through Rosamond’s curls.

“Good heavens, you have a lot of hair,” she remarked, squinting at Rosamond’s reflection in the mirror. “And your face is rather round. I think, perhaps, it would look better if we piled your hair up on top of your head.”

“I’m willing to try anything,” Rosamond admitted. Fashion simply was not her forte. She knew what she was—didn’t Father always call her his “little brown wren?” She would much rather dress simply and be able to work around the stables, helping the stable boys to train the puppies, or walking one of the mares to loosen her limbs before exercise. Sometimes, though, to get your heart’s desire, you had to completely transform yourself.

Lord Richard would have no use for a plump little thing. She must try to better herself. At the very least, she owed it to Frances and to Helen, who had invited her to their family holiday gathering for this very purpose.

A hairpin pricked her scalp. “Ouch,” she cried.

“Sorry,” Helen muttered around a mouthful of hairpins. “Your hair is awfully tricky, though.”

While Helen continued her ministrations, Frances opened the wardrobe and began rifling through Rosamond’s freshly unpacked gowns. “Rosie, you really should liven up the colors you wear,” she scolded. “One would think you were in half-mourning. It’s all dark grays and blues.”

“I feel too conspicuous if I wear bright colors,” Rosamond protested. “Really and truly, I do. You should see me in pink. I’m a fright.”

“You simply must stop thinking in those terms.” Frances yanked a wine-colored gown out of the wardrobe and held it up, giving it a critical glance. “This one will do for today. It’s pretty enough. Are you almost done with her hair, Helen?”

“Yes.” Helen stood back, admiring her handiwork. “Come and see.”

Rosamond glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, Helen had truly worked a miracle. With her curls piled high atop her head, her face appeared slimmer and her eyes seemed wider. Helen had somehow managed to convince a few curls to trail winsomely down her neck, giving her a softer, more romantic appearance.

“Very good.” Frances beckoned to Rosamond. “Now, change your dress.”

In a matter of moments, the two sisters had tightened her stays and fitted the heavy velvet gown over her head, while somehow managing to keep her curls in place.

“Anthony is supposed to go over to Danby this afternoon,” Frances remarked, bringing a pair of boots over for Helen’s inspection. “You will ride with him. We’ll say that you want to borrow some books from the library at Danby.”

“Ride with him?” Rosamond was appalled. Alone, in a sleigh, with Lord Bexley? “I don’t know that I could possibly—“

“You must remember your goal,” Helen interrupted. “You need to practice flirting. What better way setting for romance than skimming along the frozen fields, with the snow sparkling in pale afternoon sun?” She stepped back, surveying Rosamond once more. “I think you are ready. Wear your fur-lined cloak. You look very nice, indeed.”

“Yes, you do.” Frances gave Rosamond a hopeful smile. “I know you are nervous about flirting, but remember, this is Anthony. All you have to do is talk to him. Make him feel handsome and powerful. After the bad turn Genny dealt him, he deserves a little pleasant female company.”

Rosamond nodded, gazing at her reflection. With her tightened corset and her changed hairstyle, she already looked different. She appeared slimmer and more attractive than she ever had before. The two sisters had done their jobs, and with a dearth of raw material, too.

The very least she could do was go on a sleigh ride with Bexley.

Her future happiness was at stake.

Anthony hitched the bays to the sleigh, his breath coming in little clouds of smoke in the frigid air. With any luck, he would be able to go to Danby and return to Graveleon Head before the snow started in earnest again. He had no desire to be trapped at Danby. The duke would lecture him about the proper choosing of a wife all night if he stayed.

“Ahem.” A decidedly feminine cough sounded behind him.

Anthony spun around. Rosamund Hughes stood just inside the barn, draped in a fur cloak. He gave an inward groan. She was a nice enough girl, but too much like his sisters to be good company, silly and girlish and feminine.

“Hello,” he said. He wouldn’t make any interviews easy on her, for he had no wish for companionship. Moreover, he was on a mission to Danby—a mission he was dreading.

“Hello,” she replied, her voice shaky and somewhat higher-pitched than usual. It grated on his nerves. “I wondered if, perhaps, I could accompany you to Danby. I wanted to borrow some books from His Grace’s library.”

“There are books at Graveleon.” He threaded the reins through the harness. “No need of chilling yourself to the bone if you find something you like here.”

A desperate, hunted expression stole over her soft features, and he found himself wondering just what was wrong, and then he grew mad at himself for wondering.

“There is a particular book I wish to borrow,” she pressed on, her large brown eyes widening. “If you don’t mind me accompanying you, I believe I shall find it at Danby. I shall be no trouble, I promise.” She said this last in a rush of breath, as if sure he would argue with her.