Yuletide Treasure (3 page)

A crack of mocking laughter. “You need not worry on
that score. With the exception of today, I never intend to leave Farrington or to rejoin society. Therefore, I shan't have the opportunity to meet this alleged keeper of my heart. Your answer, please?”

She blanched. “My answer—now?”

“Certainly, now. I don't see a need to procrastinate, nor to explore absurd, farfetched ramifications.” A sudden possibility made him scowl.
“You
don't harbor any romantic illusions of marrying for love, do you? Is that why you posed that ludicrous question about my awaiting the perfect bride?”

Brigitte's lashes drifted to her cheeks. “I harbor no such illusions, my lord. In truth, I thought never to marry.”

“Why is that?”

Her lashes lifted, but shutters descended in their wake. “To echo your sentiments, that is my concern, not yours.”

He felt a spark of admiration at her audacious response. “As you wish. Very well, then, let's circumvent your reasons and get to your decision. Are you or are you not willing to forgo your expectations to remain unwed, and to accept my terms? Simply answer yes or no.”

“Lord Farrington, we're discussing marriage, not a business venture.”

A shrug. “In this case, they are one and the same. I've made you an offer, defined the conditions that accompany it. Assuming both of us are amenable, we'll finalize our agreement.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Eric ignored her baffled incredulity. “After which there will be no further need for us to interact. You'll keep Noelle occupied and out of my sight. I'll sustain my solitary life. As a result, Miss Curran, you'll have no reason to fear for your own.”

An odd light flickered in Brigitte's eyes. “You're determined to further this illusion, aren't you?” she asked softly. Eric went rigid. “What in the hell does that mean?”

“Three times,” Noelle piped up. “Now you said that bad word three times.”

Eric tore his stunned gaze from Brigitte to glare unsteadily at his niece.

“Noelle.” Brigitte interceded, squatting down and stunning Eric yet again—this time with her direct and effective manner of handling Noelle's insolent tongue. “Your uncle is an adult, and adults cannot be ordered about nor reprimanded by children.”

“Why? He said a wicked oath.”

“I agree. Nevertheless, the rule I just gave you holds true even if the adult in question happens to be wrong. I know it seems very unfair, but that doesn't change the fact that a rule is a rule and must be followed.”

Sullenly, Noelle kicked the dirt.

“You're angry. I don't blame you. I get angry when I have to follow rules I disagree with, too.”

That made Noelle's chin come up. “What rules do you have to follow? You're a grown-up. You can do what you want.”

“Oh, if that were only true.” Brigitte sighed, shaking her head. “But it's not. Let me tell you something. Not only do adults have rules to abide by, just like children, but ofttimes our rules are far harder to obey—and the consequences far more dire if we don't.”

A spark of interest. “Really?”

“Really. For example, if your uncle continues to utter profanities, 'tis true that you and I can do nothing to stop him. But I know someone who can.” Solemnly, Brigitte raised her eyes to the heavens, then rolled them pointedly at Eric. “Thus, were I Lord Farrington, I'd guard my tongue. After all, you never know when He might be watching … and listening.”

Noelle looked thoroughly pleased with that prospect.

“Brigitte,” the vicar interceded, “before you foolishly entertain the notion of accepting Lord Farrington's offer, you should be aware of one detail he has yet to mention. The young woman he weds will be forbidden to leave his estate, with or without Noelle. She'll be a veritable prisoner in a mansion that is no home but a mausoleum. I, better than anyone, understand your tender heart and its selfless intentions. But I also understand that the same tender heart would suffocate within so barren a life. Thus, my answer is still no.”

“We've heard your answer and your sentiments several times, Vicar,” Eric snapped with icy derision. “But, as you are not the one I've asked to wed, I'd like to hear from your granddaughter. Miss Curran?” He lowered his expectant stare to Brigitte, who still crouched next to Noelle. And waited.

Brigitte met his gaze, looking from him to her grandfather and, finally, to Noelle, who abruptly bowed her head and began whispering to Fuzzy.

The last seemed to trigger Brigitte's decision.

She came to her feet.

“I accept your offer, Lord Farrington.” As she spoke, she squeezed her grandfather's forearm—whether to reassure him or silence him, Eric wasn't certain. “—with a few stipulations.”

Caution eclipsed relief. “Name them.”

“I shall gladly take charge of Noelle and fulfill my part of the arrangement. I'll even comply with your less-than-appealing mandate that, once wed, I'll remain permanently at Farrington. However, I refuse to sever ties with my grandfather.”

Eric's jaw clenched. “And I refuse to have my privacy invaded. I also refuse to allow you and Noelle to go traipsing to the village to be ogled and grilled about the savage with whom you reside.”

Another profound flicker in those damned golden eyes, followed by—of all things—an impish smile. “Are visits by delivery men excluded from your definition of privacy invasion?”

“Pardon me?”

“Delivery men. They'll be arriving at Farrington in droves. Otherwise, how will I receive all the extensive purchases due a countess?”

Taken aback by her obvious teasing, Eric cleared his throat. “I see your point.” A pause. “Very well, Miss Curran,” he conceded, frowning as he sought a solution he could live with. “Your grandfather may visit you—once a month, and alone. Further, as no one is permitted to enter my mausoleum”—he cast a derisive look at the vicar—
“your visits must take place on the grounds, not in the manor. Unless of course you elect to emulate the delivery men. In which case, you have my consent to meet at the mansion's rear entrance.”

Her lips curved again. “Fair enough.”

“Also, I expect, during these visits, that you will not neglect your responsibility to Noelle. She is to be in your company—and in your sight—at all times.” His mouth twisted into a mocking grin. “Think of it this way: You can see to Noelle's well-being, while the vicar is assuring himself of yours.”

Brigitte's smile vanished. “You have my word that I'll never neglect Noelle. Will that be sufficient?”

“It will.”

“Thank you,” she replied solemnly. “To continue: Before we wed and leave for Farrington, I shall require several hours in the village, both to visit the homes of my students—who deserve an explanation for my sudden departure—and to speak with a friend of mine who currently instructs in her home, but who would be elated to take over my job at the schoolhouse. Frankly, she is the only person I'd entrust with my students.”

“You care that much for them?”

“I do.”

“Very well. Consider your first two stipulations granted.”

Brigitte gripped the folds of her gown, raising her chin a notch—and alerting Eric to the magnitude of her next condition. “You said I could spend your money freely, at my discretion. To be frank, I require nothing. But the parish does, more over the course of time than even your ten thousand pounds can supply. So, I'd like your word that I can provide for the church, the children, the village—any aspect of our parish I might deem worthy—not only now, but for all the years to come.”

“My word,” he repeated woodenly.

“Yes. Just as I gave you mine.”

“What makes you think my word can be trusted?”

“Instinct.”

A heartbeat of silence.

“My word, then. You may provide for the parish in any way and at any time you choose. Continue with your stipulations.”

“I have but two more. First, I want my grandfather's future ensured, his appointment to our church guaranteed for the rest of his life. Is that acceptable?”

Eric nodded. “It is.”

“And last, I'd like Noelle's blessing on our arrangement.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more.” Brigitte glanced down, tucking a strand of sable hair behind the child's ear. “Noelle?”

“What?” Noelle muttered into Fuzzy's fur.

“How do you feel about my coming to live with you and your uncle?”

A shrug.

“I could help keep Fuzzy out of trouble.”

Noelle unburied her face, assessing Brigitte with probing sapphire eyes. “I s'pose.”

“Then it's all right with you?”

“I s'pose.”

“Excellent.”

Eric cleared his throat. “Does this mean your decision is final?”

“It does.”

“Good.” He veered toward the church, sidestepping both Brigitte and the disconcerted vicar. “I'll await your return. After which, your grandfather can perform the ceremony.” He paused, his back to her. “Miss Curran?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for saving Noelle's life.”

“N
O.
U
NEQUIVOCALLY NO.
Y
OU WILL NOT TAKE THIS FRIGHTFUL
step based on some misplaced sense of duty to me and your students. You'll be helping no one by committing yourself to a blackhearted beast like Farrington.”

The vicar leaned unsteadily against Brigitte's commode, watching as she arranged her meager wardrobe in the open traveling bag on her bed.

Responding to the anguish in his tone, Brigitte abandoned her task and went to him. “Grandfather.” She lay her palm alongside his jaw. “The earl is not a ‘blackhearted beast.' We both know that. If not in fact, then in here.” She pointed to her heart. “It's not duty alone that's prompting my decision. I truly want to wed Lord Farrington.”

“Why? Because of your romantic childhood notions? Brigitte, surely you can't still be clinging to those?”

“Why not?” She inclined her head, searching her grandfather's face. “Don't you recall what he was like before … before …”

“Yes—before,” the vicar replied grimly. “And, yes, of course I remember. But that was years ago. Then came Liza's tragic death and the earl's self-imposed seclusion—events far more destructive than time. Lord Farrington is not the same man who filled your girlhood dreams.”

“I realize that. Which is all the more reason for my decision.” Brigitte silenced her grandfather's protest with a gentle shake of her head, wondering how she could make him understand, when he lacked knowledge of a vital piece of the truth. But then, she'd never shared that conversation with him, for there were some memories too painful to discuss, even with this beloved man who'd raised her. “Grandfather, our parishioners come from miles around to seek your advice, easing their burdens simply by sharing them with you. Why? Because of your compassionate heart and open mind. Please, Grandfather, won't you offer those same gifts to me?”

The vicar sighed. “I'll try, child. It's not as easy when you love someone as much as I love you.”

“I know. I feel the same way about you. And about our church. That love alone would propel me to accept the earl's offer. But I'd be lying if I professed that to be my only reason for doing so.” Her gaze swept the ceiling, as if consulting the heavens, then lowered to meet the vicar's. “I understand your concerns, and I love you for them. But the earl is in pain. As is Noelle. They need me. It's my
responsibility—no,” she amended softly, “my privilege—to help them heal.” With solemn reverence, Brigitte clasped her grandfather's hands. “How many times have we pondered the source of my restlessness? How often have we wondered why I feel so empty inside; as if I'm missing my calling—some unknown purpose that would give my life meaning?”

A flash of pain crossed the vicar's face. “I thought you'd filled that void with your teaching.”

“Partially, perhaps. Fully? Never. Not that I haven't adored teaching the children,” she hastened to add. “I have. And, yes, they've needed me. But Norah is equally qualified to fill that need. The two times she visited the schoolhouse, the children clustered around her like eager cubs. She's a fine instructor, and a caring one. My students will thrive beneath her guidance. Whereas Noelle …” Brigitte's voice quavered, emotion surging inside her like a great, untamed wave. “You've always said that when a person's life is at its bleakest is the time when God's hope shines through. Perhaps now is that time, for both the earl and Noelle. Perhaps God is offering me this opportunity to bring joy back into their lives, to help make them a family. And maybe, just maybe, to open Lord Farrington's heart to love. Noelle needs him so badly. You and I both realize that beneath her sassy, devilish facade she's no more than a forsaken child.”

“True. But is the earl capable of offering her that which she needs? Can a heart as cold as his learn to love?”

“Lord Farrington's heart needs to be reawakened, not taught. Think, Grandfather. Remember the stories you told me—about how the earl saw to Liza's upbringing?”

Staring off, the vicar's thoughts traveled back more than two decades. “That was a lifetime ago, but yes,” he murmured. “Liza was a babe, the earl scarcely in his teens, when their parents were lost at sea. Lord Farrington refused to give Liza up to the countless families who offered to raise her. With the help of his servants, he himself provided her with care, education …”

“And love,” Brigitte finished. “Even I recall that—not from the onset obviously, since Liza was two years my
senior—but from the time she was about six or seven. She and Lord Farrington attended church weekly, arriving just before your service began. Oh, how eagerly I'd await their carriage. I'd watch them alight—a beautiful princess and her guardian, straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Lord Farrington was everything a princess could dream of: protective, devoted—and so handsome it was hard not to stare. His smile—I remember that most of all. It would begin at his eyes, then travel to his mouth. It was so dazzling it could melt the winter's snow.” A reminiscent light dawned in Brigitte's eyes. “Every year during your Christmas service he would slip a gift into Liza's coat pocket, undetected. It wasn't until they were leaving the church that she'd find it. Then she'd squeal and hug him, and he'd break into that wonderful rumbling laughter …” Brigitte's voice faltered.