The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (15 page)

“Very good.” The lady selected a book from the shelf as well. “I would only say one thing more. Take the advice of an old woman, Miss Hughes. Don’t allow other people to change you. If you do not feel like you want to be a belle of the ball, then for heaven’s sake don’t press yourself. You are enough.”

For some ridiculous reason, sudden tears stung Rosamond’s eyes. She blinked rapidly, for she couldn’t very well start sniveling right in front of the dowager marchioness. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Her ladyship gave Rosamond a regal smile, and patted her shoulder gently as she left the room.

Rosamond hugged the books to her chest. Was the dowager saying that, no matter what Lord Richard’s taste was in women, that she should simply be herself? Was her ladyship implying that her grandson would appreciate a real woman, and not a seasoned coquette?

She appreciated her ladyship’s opinion, for although she loved Frances and Helen like sisters, they did have a troubling tendency to run roughshod over situations like this. Perhaps she should listen to their grandmother, and stop trying to be something she wasn’t. It was certainly more comfortable to be natural than to try to make witty conversation with a man, especially one as distant as Bexley.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered to herself, settling back in her chair by the fire. “Just on the way home. I’ll talk to Bexley about farming instead of trying to flirt with him. We’ll see if it makes any difference in how either of us feels. If I fail, I can always put myself back in Helen and Frances’ capable hands.”

“Your Grace, with all due respect, I hardly think that the ideal time to find a wife is over the Christmas holiday.” Anthony leaned back in his chair and tried to appear sane and sensible. “I suppose the better idea is to wait until the Season starts, and go to London.” He made an involuntary grimace as he pronounced those last words.

The Duke of Danby thumped his cane on the floor. “The time of year doesn’t matter. Only the girl matters. There are plenty of eligible young women in the area, I can assure you.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and Grandmother entered. Both men rose as she came into the room. The duke’s rather gaunt features softened at the sight of his sister. “Charlotte, it is good to see you, my dear.”

“Jonathon. It has been too long.” She gave her brother a hug. Anthony was shocked. Had his grandmother ever hugged anyone? Not in his recollection. She wasn’t exactly the warm, grandmotherly type.

She turned to face him. “I just met Miss Hughes down in the library.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, she wanted to borrow a book,” he explained. To be perfectly honest, he had forgotten all about Rosamond. When one was being called upon the carpet by the Duke of Danby, small details slipped his attention.

“She is a good girl,” his grandmother pronounced firmly, giving her brother a knowing look. “Not at all the sort of girl who feels comfortable in a London ballroom. In fact, I gave her some books on farming. She seems much more at home when talking about the country than about anything else.”

Brief interest flared within Anthony. “Truly, Grandmother?” He had never given Rosamond Hughes much notice before. She was just always there, quietly keeping his raucous sisters company.

“Yes, Anthony.” She nodded. “Now run along, and take that poor girl home. The snow is starting to fall, and I don’t want her to freeze on the way back.”

Anthony glanced out the window of the study. It was true. Snowflakes were drifting in earnest, swirling about the windowpane. With the certainty of many years spent outdoors, he gauged the heavy grey color of the sky. If they left right away, he could get them both home before the snow started falling too thickly. “You are right, Grandmother. Are you staying at Danby?”

“Yes. I presume my brother can find a room for me for at least one night.” She gave the duke an arch look.

“Of course, of course. But, Charlotte, we haven’t settled the question of the boy’s future,” the old man protested. “Any girl in Yorkshire would do. Shall I make inquiries? Shall I invite the entire county to the Christmas Eve ball?”

“Oh, Jonathon.” Grandmother gave him a regal smile. “We have all evening to plan my grandson’s future. Let him go home before he has to spend the night in a snow bank.”

His grandmother was giving him the keys to his release. The best way to thank her was to clear out as quickly as he could, while still being somewhat polite.

He managed to retrieve Miss Hughes from the library and bundle them both in the sleigh before the snow started falling too thickly. However, just a few moments after they passed the gates, the storm kicked up in earnest.

He pressed forward, but it was becoming difficult to see. If only he were alone. He would simply stop the horses for a moment to try to get his bearings, but with Miss Hughes along for the ride, he was honor-bound to keep going.

“It’s coming down rather fast.” She huddled over towards him, raising her voice against the wind. “Do you think we can make it?”

“We don’t have far,” he replied. Graveleon was only about a fifteen minute drive from Danby in good weather. “I’m sorry. We should have stayed at the castle.”

“Don’t apologize.” She tugged her muffler up to her chin. “I’m just grateful you are such a good driver.”

He was touched by her faith in his abilities, but also alarmed at the speed with which the storm continued. Could they possibly make it home in time if the storm continued? Again, if it were just him, he’d take greater risks. He couldn’t risk Miss Hughes’ safety, though.

He glanced behind them. The stone walls of Danby Castle were already swallowed by the swirling snow. They could turn back, but it was difficult to tell how far they had come.

He urged the horses to go faster, but they simply could not keep pace against the storm. The sleigh was slowing with each step they took.

“Is that Graveleon?” Miss Hughes pointed at a roof just up ahead, peeking out over a snowbank. “It looks awfully small.”

“No, it’s not Graveleon. It must be a gamekeeper’s cottage,” he replied. He brought the horses closer for a better look. Yes, this must be where the gamekeeper for Graveleon stayed when the great house was occupied by the family. A smaller stone structure stood beside the cottage, the perfect little stable for their needs. “Miss Hughes, we’ll have to stop here for a while. I can’t make the horses go on in this weather.”

“Of course.” Her voice was difficult to make out above the storm and the muffler she had wound around herself so tightly.

He drove them into the stone barn. Miss Hughes leapt out and helped him with the horses, efficiently removing their harnesses, and rubbing down their damp flanks with an old blanket she found in the corner. He broke the ice in the trough and found a barrel of oats that looked presentable enough. He was glad of her help and also thankful that she did not appear the least bit nonplussed by the situation.

“I think they will be all right,” he said, after the horses had been seen to. “Shall we see if we are so fortunate in our lodgings?”

She nodded. Her cheeks were bright red, but that could have been due to the brutal weather and her hard work.

He took her hand in his and led her out of the barn. Together, they bolted the doors shut behind the horses, keeping them safe and sheltered from the wind and snow. Then he led her over to the cottage door.

“As my brother Richard would say, any port in a storm,” he announced, trying to appear surer of himself than he was. In truth, he was nervous. He was out of his depth. He had lost against wind and weather, and now he was bringing a pretty young lady into an abandoned house. The only thing that could have possibly made him feel worse was if the horses had actually bolted.

Had she flinched when he said that about Richard? Perhaps she thought that kind of sailor-talk was coarse, although she seemed a sensible enough creature. Not once on this doomed journey had she acted missish.

“Any port in a storm,” she echoed.

Together, they crossed the threshold into the vacant cottage.

Rosamond removed her cloak, which was wet through with snow, and unwound the muffler from around her neck. Bexley was already over at the hearth, coaxing a small fire to life.

“Lucky thing there was dry wood in here,” he remarked. He leaned forward and blew heavily on the kindling, and it caught quickly. “It’s a little warmer in here than outside, but not much. Here, bring your wet things over. We’ll spread everything out on the hearth to dry.”

Rosamond complied, draping her cloak and muffler over the stone hearth. “To be perfectly honest, I’m glad we stopped,” she admitted. She had been more frightened than she let on, because going into hysterics would accomplish absolutely nothing in a moment of crisis. However, now that they were safe in shelter, she could confess her fears. “That snowstorm came up so suddenly, I wasn’t sure how we would make it home.”

“Nor I.” He dragged a couple of battered old chairs over to the fire. “You’re a great girl in an emergency, though. I must say, I was impressed with how well you acquitted yourself. In fact, I appreciated your help.”

Rosamond glowed at his praise. “Thank you,” she said, simply. Bexley was a man of few words. Earning his approval really meant something, unlike other young men who would flatter and cajole a girl in the hopes of gaining her favor.

She spotted an old teakettle near the hearth. “Would you like some tea? Assuming, of course, I can find provisions.”

Bexley rubbed his hands together and then held them out to the blaze. “Tea would be most welcome.”

She found a tiny kitchen area with a miniscule cupboard. There was a tin box of very dry biscuits, and some tea leaves that were only slightly stale. Two thick porcelain mugs, which were relatively clean, had been placed inside the cupboard as well. Whoever used this cottage had recently been here, or planned to return soon. She managed to locate a few strainers that fit over the lip of the cups, so they wouldn’t have to drink the dregs.

She brought her bounty back into the main room. “Look, everything we could possibly need for our afternoon’s refreshment. How very civilized.”

Bexley flashed her a grin. Her heart leapt at his smile, which he bestowed even more rarely than kind words. He looked more handsome when he smiled, more rakish than when he was his sober, unsmiling self. If only she could make him smile more often. He was a good-looking fellow, no doubt about it.

He retrieved the teakettle and took it outside. When he returned, it was filled with snow, and he hooked it to the hearth so it could start heating up.

“Perfect,” she replied with a laugh. “What an ideal way to use our abundance.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

They sat in comfortable silence as the water heated up. The room grew pleasantly warm, and the sound of the snow as the wind pushed it against the window panes was actually quite cheerful now that they were safe.

“Do you suppose they will miss us?” It was all well and good to feel cozy, but what if Helen and Frances began to worry about her? Being alone with a man in an abandoned cottage was not exactly proper, even if the man in question was a family friend who had absolutely no designs on her. Now that she thought about it, she had never been alone for any length of time with a man. She was always chaperoned, even during her dancing lessons. It was a wonder she wasn’t terrified. But she wasn’t. In fact, this was an enjoyable, quiet little bubble they existed in, and it was disappointing to even think about the outside world.

“I doubt it.” The teakettle began to whistle. Anthony rose and took it down from the hook over the fire, and then poured hot water over the tea leaves Rosamond had arranged in their cups.  “They will probably think that we stayed at Danby when the storm came up, and Grandmother will likely think we beat the storm back to Graveleon House.” He placed the teakettle back on the hook and flicked her a reassuring glance. “Your reputation is safe.”