The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (14 page)

“Very well.” He couldn’t say no without being an outright boor. “Climb in.”

She stepped forward. “Just a moment.” Flicking her cloak back, she tightened the harness around one of the bays’ belly by at least two notches. She worked quickly and expertly, as though she’d had years of practice saddling horses. “There. I saw the beggar exhale while we were talking. He must be quite a trickster.”

Slow respect washed over him as she handed herself into the sleigh, not waiting for him to assist her. She arranged her cloak around her shoulders and drew the rug up over her lap, then faced him with an expectant air. “All right. I’m ready.”

He climbed in beside her. She smelled of sandalwood, an earthy, sweet scent that blended with the hay in the barn. It was enough to turn a man’s head. Usually women smelled like flowers—Genevieve Hopwood always had a cloying scent of tea roses about her, a scent that often left him with a headache.

He breathed deeply for a moment, for Miss Hughes was fairly intoxicating.

“Shall we go?” Rosamond leaned forward, her dark eyebrows arched delicately.

“Yes, yes of course.” With a flick of his wrist, he started the horses out of the barn.

Within moments they were flying over the frozen pasture, jingle bells ringing merrily on the crisp air. He liked to drive fast and Rosamond seemed to enjoy it too. Rather than brace herself against the footrest, turning pale with terror, she flung back her hood and smiled, turning her face as though she could catch the frosty wind as they sped along.

“You are such a dear to take me driving,” she cried. “I can see for myself what strong arms you have. You must be an excellent driver.”

For some ridiculous reason, his pride expanded under her praise. “It’s not my driving skill, it’s the horses,” he averred. “Best horses in the country. I’ve raised them myself, since they were both colts.”

“You did very well indeed.” The expression in her brown eyes was warm and affectionate. “If only Father had such magnificent creatures. I don’t think I would ever tire of riding. As it is, I have a very old, but very sweet, mare. I hate to tax her too much, especially given my…” she trailed off, her cheeks glowing a becoming shade of pink.

“Given what?” What could possibly make her blush like that? Her hair was coming loose from its knot, and several dark chestnut curls danced on the breeze.

“Given my
avoirdupois
,” she murmured. The bright merriment in her face extinguished, and only embarrassment lingered.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He glanced at her, sizing her up beneath the robe and cloak. “You’re very small. Most horses could pull several times your weight.”

He meant to reassure her, but her expression was still shuttered and mortified. She merely nodded, and lapsed into silence.

Well, if she didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t press her. It was far better to enjoy this freedom, this brief respite from finding the perfect wife, before the Duke of Danby had his say. He would just sit back and relax, feeling the speed of the bitter air rushing by.

After a few blissful moments, Rosamond spoke again. “Um…did…Lady Genevieve like to drive?”

He glanced over at her, stunned by the brazenness of the question. Genny had no place here and now. Because of her betrayal, he was now being called upon the carpet. Besides which, if Rosamond knew about the elopement, that meant he was being gossiped about. If only Helen and Frances would learn to mind their own business. “No. She did not.”

“That’s too bad.” She gave him a bright smile, but it totally lacked the warmth of her previous expression. It was as though she were smiling because she felt she had to, not because she wanted to. It made him uneasy.

“I really don’t care,” he responded, more tersely than he meant. He hated being the subject of tittle-tattle, even in his own family.

“Indeed, you should not,” she rejoined, her tone sprightly. “If I were you, I should forget about her altogether. Perhaps some other girl would suit just as well.”

He gritted his teeth, and focused on cutting a path through the snow. “That seems to be the general consensus among my family.”

They fell silent again as the hallowed walls of Danby Castle loomed in the distance. A heavy feeling settled over him, as though two hands were pushing upon his shoulders. He had a duty and an obligation to fulfill. Let Richard gad about the world seeking his fortune, finding love with every young lady who crossed his path. Anthony’s position in life was different.

And he hated it.

“Is that…Danby?” Rosamond sat up, tugging her cloak forward over her tumbling curls. “Why, it’s a castle.”

“I suppose it is.” He never really thought about it much. To him, it was just a fairly grand family residence. “It’s nicer on the inside than it appears from the outside.”

“I’m sure it is,” she replied. “But it still seems daunting.”

A sudden urge to protect her from her own lack of confidence welled within him. What would happen if he placed his arm gently around her shoulders? She was a friend of his family, after all. Surely it would be a nice, welcoming gesture.

No. He shouldn’t touch her. He would make an even bigger fool of himself if he tried. Already his heartbreak was the fodder of gossip and consternation within the family. He didn’t need to add to his humiliation by shoring Rosamond up for her first trip to Danby.

Instead, he cut through the gates and traced a circle in the snow until he reached the front portico. Then, squaring his shoulders for the inevitable onslaught of the Duke of Danby’s lecture, he brought the horses to a halt.

The Duke of Danby’s library was truly awe-inspiring. Rosamond clasped her hands behind her back and gazed around in wonder. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling, from wall to wall, enveloping her in the scent of old paper. The hearth, which was large enough that, if she wished, she could stand inside, contained a roaring blaze that crackled merrily.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the vast, gilt-edged mirror above the mantel. All of Helen’s handiwork had been blown about carelessly by the wind, and now more than a few locks of her hair tumbled down her back. Her cheeks were positively red from the cold, not a delicate shade of pink. As for her corset and her, as she so stupidly called it, her
avoirdupois
, it looked very much the same as always. She was destined to be plump and round. Would Lord Richard like her even if she was not a statuesque, willowy blonde?

Bexley, in his own awkward way, had tried to reassure her. At least, being told that a farm animal could carry several times your own weight was supposed to be reassurance in its own way. Not that she had been all that marvelous a coquette. Every time she mentioned other women, which was her idea of steering Bexley around to the idea of romance, he grew gruffer and more shuttered. How was a woman supposed to flirt with a man? She had no idea.

Since her figure was hopeless and her hair a fright, she had to focus upon her other attributes, and if that meant learning how to flatter a man so that his head was turned, well then, she owed it to Frances and Helen and her own future happiness to at least try. She was a rational creature, after all. She could learn things. Hadn’t she learned to waltz, when she was sure she had two left feet? All it had taken was weeks and weeks of practice, wearing holes in her slippers until the movements came to her involuntarily.

She walked over to the closest bookshelf, scanning the shelves up and down. Surely there was a book here that could set her mind at ease, and help her to become a diamond of the first water. All she had to do was practice as much as possible before Lord Richard arrived for Christmas.

Oh, bother. This section was all in Greek. While she liked reading Greek myths, there was nothing here that could be applied to practical purpose, unless she aimed to imitate Aphrodite.

The door to the library swung open. “Ah, I see I am not alone in wanting a good book.”

Though she had only heard that imperious, querulous voice once or twice before, Rosamond would recognize it anywhere. Bexley’s grandmother, the dowager marchioness. “Lady Westchester.” For a brief, flustered moment she was unsure as to whether or not she should curtsy. The older woman’s regal air certainly commanded respect. Rosamond bobbed up and down, unpleasantly close to feeling like a puppet on a string.

“Miss Hughes.” She gave Rosamond a cordial smile. “I see you journeyed from Graveleon Head to partake of my brother’s library. Did you come with Bexley?”

“Yes. He was kind enough to allow me to ride along.” Her cheeks grew red as she spoke. What if the dowager knew that she was merely honing her flirtatious skills on Bexley, in the hopes of securing Lord Richard’s affection? Somehow, the whole situation seemed ridiculous.

“Bexley is a good young man.” The dowager marchioness sank into a leather chair by the fireplace, fixing Rosamond with her keen blue eyes. “He is not of a frivolous persuasion, which is to be commended in a first son. More than one family has been ruined by a wastrel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rosamond sat opposite of the lady, even though she really wanted to flee the room. If the dowager knew what she was up to, she would surely disapprove. Somehow, that thought was more disappointing than anything else in this highly disappointing day. Lady Westchester was made of finer cloth than most people, and it would be very nice to have her good opinion.

“He wants a wife.” Her ladyship leaned her head back against the chair cushion, lowering her eyelids. “Bexley needs a wife. Not just because he is the heir, but because he works very hard. It would be good for him to have a partner in life, someone who is willing to share the burden with him.”

Rosamond could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound completely idiotic, so she pondered the lady’s words. What would it be like to have everyone in your family depending upon you? She felt uncomfortable enough knowing that Papa wanted to marry her off to anyone who would have her.

“My brother feels certain that Bexley can and should marry the first girl he can find, and without delay,” the dowager continued. She tilted her head a little, looking at Rosamond from under her lowered lids. “I think he deserves better. Quite frankly, I was relieved when Genevieve Hopwood eloped. Now Bexley can find someone who truly adores him.”

“Yes, of course,” Rosamond replied, trying to keep her voice low and regal like the dowager’s. For some reason, the older woman was confiding in her. She should measure up to the confidence, and behave like a great lady. “I don’t know him very well. He is rather aloof at times. On the ride over, though, he seemed like a very nice fellow.”

“He is both aloof and nice,” his grandmother rejoined. “I suppose he doesn’t care much for Society. He loves his home, and he wants to do well by it. I don’t think he has much patience for anything else.”

Rosamond smiled. “That’s understandable. When you are passionate about something, as he is about Thursan Grange, I can see how other matters pale in comparison.”

“What are you passionate about, Miss Hughes?” The dowager fixed her with a piercing look.

The sudden shift from musing about Bexley’s character to her own likes and dislikes made Rosamond gulp. She was passionate about Lord Richard, of course, but one couldn’t say that to his grandmother. “I like caring for the animals on our estate,” she began weakly. “I’m interested in bloodlines for all of our stock. Papa says it is all nonsense. He wants me to be a celebrated debutante.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “He has poor material to work with, that much is certain.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” the dowager replied briskly. “A girl with a brain in her head is worth forty fluttering chits in a ballroom. I was never one for great parties myself, and I did all right by my family.” She rose, beckoning to Rosamond. “Come. There are some excellent books on farming and on maintaining bloodlines over in this far section of the library.”

Rosamond followed her over to a nook in the corner, with stacks upon stacks of ledger books and heavy, leather-bound tomes. “I used to pour over these myself on snowy afternoons,” her ladyship mused, selecting a volume bound in brown calf. “You might find them an interesting read over the holidays.”

Rosamond accepted the books with gratitude. Now, at least, she did not have to come up with a particular volume of her own, and perhaps if she read through them, she could converse intelligently with the dowager in future. “These will keep me busy, I think.”