One winters night, p.2
One Winter's Night, page 2
“Sixty-four, though is still one of the best shots in all of England. He can hit a target from a hundred yards while wearing a blindfold.”
Hugo swallowed deeply. “Then how fortunate my mother is in residence. Indeed, there are other guests here to celebrate the festive season.” And to watch a self-proclaimed bachelor bow down to his mother’s constant demands.
Miss Bennett pursed her lips. “And what if your mother objects to playing chaperone when there are guests in need of her attention?”
“It will be no hardship.”
Hugo imagined Miss Bennett was a lady brimming with grace and decorum. Perhaps in that regard they were unsuited. Then again, he was like a hawk assessing its prey when it came to looking for a reason not to wed.
“The fact my mother is in residence should suffice,” he continued. “You’ve no need to be shackled at the wrists. And I can arrange for a maid to share your bedchamber.”
Good Lord. It sounded as if he were desperate for her company. Next, he’d offer to wrap her in furs from the far reaches of Prussia. To pour her a milk bath infused with cloves and honey.
“Even so,” she said with a sigh. “I would rather you spoke to your mother.”
As if summoned by thought alone, the Countess of Denham came gliding out into the hall.
“There you are, Hugo. I thought I heard voices.” His mother took one look at Miss Bennett’s tousled locks and scowled. “The servants’ entrance is to the rear, girl.” She pointed to the growing puddle. “And look at the mess you’ve made on the parquet.”
“Miss Bennett is not a servant, Mother.”
Rather than appear offended, Miss Bennett smiled. She offered his mother a demure curtsey. “Good evening, my lady. I am Miss Lara Bennett. Granddaughter of Lord Forsyth. My carriage is stuck in the snow, and I made my way here hoping to find direction.”
“Forsyth?” His mother’s face turned ashen. She stood staring as uncomfortable seconds ticked by. “Did you say Lord Forsyth?”
“I did. Are you acquainted with my grandfather?”
“M-Montague?”
“Indeed.”
“Good heavens.” Penelope put her hand to her heart and gawped at Miss Bennett. “Your grandfather is Montague Forsyth? The Montague Forsyth?”
“Yes.”
And with that, the Countess of Denham swooned.
Chapter Two
While Lara considered herself a worldly woman of three-and-twenty, she had never seen a person faint. It happened so quickly. In a matter of seconds, the countess’ scowl slipped from her face as fast as she fell to the floor. The poor woman would have hit the deck like a cannonball slithering through greasy fingers had the earl not rushed forward to catch her.
“Good Lord, Mother!” The earl crouched at the lady’s side, one muscular arm supporting her head.
Lara dropped to her knees and pressed the back of her hand to Lady Denham’s brow. “She feels rather hot. But then I don’t suppose you’ve been able to open a window.” Judging by the heavy smell of smoke in the air, Lara would lay odds that every fire in the house blazed.
“Fetch some water, Crudging,” the earl barked.
Lara glanced up at the butler. “And a square of linen.”
“Mother, can you hear me?”
“Perhaps we should move her somewhere more comfortable,” Lara said upon hearing the lively hum of chatter coming from the room to their right. “I doubt she would want her guests to see her in such a fragile state.”
The earl looked at Lara directly. He had the most remarkable blue eyes, so remarkable one could not help but stop and stare. She imagined that when he laughed, they were like the bright hue of cornflowers in the height of summer. But winter was here, and there was no mistaking the icy chill of despair.
“You’re right. How perceptive of you, Miss Bennett. When it comes to my mother, opinion is everything.” The earl glanced back over his shoulder. “Where on earth is Crudging?”
“I can help you carry her.”
Lady Denham was of slender frame. The earl looked strong enough to carry two grown men, and Lara had lost count of the times she’d helped her grandfather to bed after a heavy night drinking port.
Lord Denham nodded. “If you could take her legs, we’ll move her to my study. Perhaps a nip of brandy will bring her round.”
Together they carried Lady Denham into the room across the hall and lowered her gently down onto the chaise. Fearing it was too hot near the fire, they dragged the sofa closer to the window.
“In all my twenty-nine years, that’s the first time I have seen her swoon.” Lord Denham poured brandy into a glass, swallowed the contents in one large gulp and then refilled the tumbler. “Of course, she’ll deny the fact and find a way to explain why she collapsed in a heap.”
The earl moved to kneel at his mother’s side. He cradled her head and brought the glass to her mouth to wet her lips.
“Perhaps she’s acquainted with my grandfather. The blood drained from her face as soon as I mentioned his name.” Of course Lady Denham knew Montague Forsyth. Else, regardless of the weather, Lara would never have been so presumptuous as to call at a house uninvited.
“I can think of no other explanation.” The earl jerked his head towards the drinks table. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to take a nip yourself. I’m sure your lips should be as pink as a rose, not as blue as a berry.”
Lara noted the playfulness in his tone. “Perhaps I will take a sip.” She rose, crossed the room and poured no more than a mouthful of brandy into a crystal glass. “Once a chill sets in, it can be a devil to sleep at night.”
“Yes, during moments of weakness, restlessness plagues more than the mind.”
“Moments of weakness?” Lara’s heart skipped a beat. Surely he had not noticed her hidden anxiety, anxiety that stemmed from her reluctance to play a part in her grandfather’s plan. Heavens, the sooner Montague arrived, the sooner she could tell some semblance of the truth.
“When the cold hinders one’s circulation,” he explained, “it’s impossible to settle.”
“Indeed.” Relief calmed her panicked mind. The amber liquid slipped down her throat, scorching her windpipe. “Gracious.” She panted a few breaths. “The heat can come as quite a shock when one is used to nothing but ratafia.”
“Did the fire reach your toes?” the earl said with some amusement.
Lara shook her head. “It warmed my stomach. I fear I may have to down a quart to warm my digits.” She plastered her hand to her mouth as a chuckle escaped. “Forgive me. I should not laugh when Lady Denham is ill.”
The earl turned back to his mother. “I imagine she will wake in a moment. Perhaps her condition has nothing to do with your grandfather and the pressure of hosting this gathering has taken its toll.”
Lara placed her glass on the drinks table and returned to stand at the matron’s side. “I must confess, the thought of having a house full of guests during the festive season fills me with dread.”
The earl stood, too. “I share your loathing of such tiresome events.”
“Then why agree to play host?” The question fell from Lara’s lips without thought. She always spoke her mind. Another trait inherited from Montague Forsyth. “Forgive me. It is not my place to pry.”
A smile touched the earl’s lips. “Ask for my forgiveness again, and I shall put you in the bedchamber next to my mother’s.”
“On a winter’s night such as this, I shall be grateful for a bed in the barn. But you should know, I make a habit of expressing my views.”
“You should know I would rather hear honesty than stomach falsehoods, even if one might consider the comments impertinent. And so, in answer to your question, I promised my mother I would choose a bride before my thirtieth birthday. And so I must make my choice from those ladies in attendance.”
A frisson of guilt sent heat creeping up to her cheeks. Oh, she despised falsehoods, too, but how did one refuse the request of a man in his twilight years? How did one say no to a grandfather seeking a second chance at love? While the earl’s masterful countenance suggested a defiance of society’s rules, Lara understood his need to please his family.
That said, her grandfather would never tell her who to marry.
“And your thirtieth birthday is when exactly?”
“In two days.”
“Two days!” Lara glanced at the matron and lowered her voice, though she swore she saw the lady’s eyes flicker open. “Then your birthday is on Christmas Day.”
“Yes. The day my mother expects me to make the ultimate sacrifice.” The earl arched a brow. “The Lord may have fulfilled his promise to his people, but I doubt I shall keep mine.”
“Is it that you don’t wish to marry, or that you are averse to those ladies present?”
The gentleman pondered the question.
Eventually, he glanced at his mother and shook his head. “Let’s say that one’s experiences of marriage as a child informs one’s desires as an adult. I’ll be damned if I’ll marry to secure a bloodline.” He inhaled a breath and in a calmer tone said, “Look out of the window, Miss Bennett, and tell me what you see. Describe the scene in two words if you can.”
Lara thought it an odd request, but having lied to the gentleman, the least she could do was appear accommodating.
She crossed the room and drew back the thick red curtain. Outside, a crisp white blanket covered everything as far as the eye could see. The world beyond the house looked peaceful. Perfect. Romantic notions filled her head. A stroll with a lover whilst wrapped in warm furs. Sharing a drink of chocolate by a roaring fire. Exchanging passionate kisses to heat their blood.
Her heart sighed. “In answer to your question,” she began, letting the curtain fall and turning back to face him, “I find the view beautiful, rather enchanting.”
The earl jerked his head back. “Oh, like most ladies, I expected you to say cold and bleak for that is the perfect description of my parents’ marriage.” Sadness infused his tone. “Few people witness something magical.”
Then she was one of the lucky ones. Her parents’ marriage had been magical until the tragic end. “I imagine some people are as pessimistic about marriage as they are about winter. My grandfather taught me to see the beauty in everything. Perhaps if you do the same, my lord, you might find one lady here has hidden merits.”
“A man should not have to search for a reason to marry, Miss Bennett. When he finds the perfect life partner, does he not feel it in his soul?”
Lara had witnessed the power of true love firsthand. “One hopes, but it seems to happen to so few.” For someone she had met a mere twenty minutes earlier, the earl seemed most forthcoming with his opinions.
“I would rather partake in a discreet liaison than shackle myself to a spouse I despise.” The earl’s gaze turned penetrative. “Though I doubt one of your fair sex would agree.”
The depth of his stare sent heat creeping up her neck. “My views on marriage are of no consequence.” She glanced at Lady Denham and thought she saw the matron blink. “I am merely thankful for your hospitality.” That was the truth.
“What?” he mocked. “Like Miss Pardue, you have no wish to bemoan the sad fate of downtrodden women? Like Miss Harper, you do not wish to force your opinion? Or perhaps you are more like Miss Mason-Jones, and you would rather agree with everything I say.”
Was he trying to goad her, to rouse her ire?
Was he trying to find a flaw in her character, too?
“Perhaps you have suppressed your frustrations for so long, my lord, anger informs your opinions. Perhaps you think I might say something to convince you all women are an unsuitable match for you. Instead, might I suggest you have an honest discussion with your mother and tell her you lack the strength to make a lifelong commitment without love?”
She had gone too far.
Montague would say she had not gone far enough.
Indeed, that might be the reason she added, “Some ladies prefer a confident man with a compassionate character over money and a title. A man who can see beyond a lady’s minor failings.”
A deathly silence ensued.
The earl stared at her, blinking as if he still had snowflakes stuck to his lashes.
She couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Who was she to preach about honesty when she had arrived at the house under false pretences?
Thankfully, the butler entered carrying a porcelain bowl. He placed it on a side table, and Lara wrung out the linen square and wiped Lady Denham’s brow. As soon as the cold water touched the matron’s face, her eyes flew open, and she scanned her surroundings.
“Hugo? Why am I lying on a chaise in your study?” Lady Denham brought a limp hand to her brow. “And why are you gaping as if I’m about to give up the ghost?”
“You swooned, Mother.” The earl glanced up from the woman—who had clearly been pretending to be incapacitated these last few minutes so she could listen to their conversation—and met Lara’s gaze.
“Poppycock! Young gels swoon. Respectable ladies take a slight turn.”
“Miss Bennett helped carry you into the study.”
“You hit the floor with remarkable speed,” Lara confirmed. “A mere second after I mentioned my grandfather is Lord Forsyth.”
Perhaps she should hint that the gentleman was in the area. It would certainly add credence to the tale. Lara mentally shook her head. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to such a foolhardy plan.
“Mention that man’s name in public, and most ladies swoon.” Lady Denham sat up. “Swoon with shock, my dear, not from some romantic interest. No, heaven forbid a lady should fall for that seducer’s smooth tongue. Heaven forbid.”
Lara pursed her lips. Montague Forsyth did not pander to society’s dictates. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said. “My grandfather had a reputation for being reckless in his youth. But when a man loses the love of his life, it affects him in strange ways.”
If Lady Denham had looked pale before, she looked positively ashen now.
“Your grandmother died young?” the earl asked.
Lara forced a smile. “Perhaps we should get Lady Denham to her feet. A stroll along the hall will soon have her right again, as will a glass of sherry.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Miss Harper won’t sit still for long and will soon be on the prowl, ready to sink her claws into her next unsuspecting victim.”
Lara sighed and arched an admonishing brow.
“What?” The earl shrugged. “It is merely an observation. One I’m sure you will agree with after spending an hour in her delightful company.”
“Looks fade, my lord. You will not be this handsome forever. Take heed. Else you might be a lonely man of sixty-plus years wishing you had tried harder.”
The earl gaped at her incredulously for the umpteenth time.
Lara’s comment saw Lady Denham bring a trembling hand to her cheek and mutter, “Oh, Lord.”
The time had come for action, not lolling about glaring. After Lara’s outspoken comments, it was a time for honesty, too. “If you would prefer to direct me to the nearest village, my lord, I will be happy to take shelter there.” She turned to Lady Denham. “I wouldn’t want my presence here to disrupt your party or cause more distress than it has already.”
Lady Denham studied her through narrowed eyes. She glanced at her son, and after a moment’s reflection said, “You may stay, Miss Bennett, unless my son has any objection.”
The earl considered her with a level of scrutiny that thawed her frozen toes. “As a compassionate man concerned for your plight, I must insist you stay, Miss Bennett. And as the granddaughter of a peer, it is only right we invite you to join us for the festivities.”
“A room and a hot meal are all I require.” Lara glanced at the sodden hem of her dress. “We were in such a hurry to find shelter I left my valise in the carriage. This dress is unsuitable to wear to dinner.”
“Then I shall arrange for someone to fetch your luggage.” He seemed most eager for her to join their gathering.
“In this weather? My lord, I cannot ask my poor coachman to brave such harsh conditions a third time.”
The earl shrugged. “As soon as I’ve settled you in the drawing room, Miss Bennett, I shall attend to the matter personally.”
“You, Hugo?” Lady Denham frowned. “You act the hired help? But it’s treacherous out there.”
“Indeed,” he said, his eyes brightening.
The gentleman seemed to be suffering from apathy. Clearly, he sought a means of escape. A ride or a long trudge in the snow seemed more appealing than the monotonous conversation of ladies looking to hook a titled husband.
Lara inclined her head by way of thanks. She doubted any of the ladies present would find her suitable company. When one lived with an eccentric, rakish sort of gentleman, one forgot how to pass pleasantries.
“Do you feel able to stand, Lady Denham?” Lara said, wondering why her grandfather liked a woman she considered haughty and overbearing? “Might I help you back to the drawing room?”
“Of course I can stand, gel,” the matron snapped. “I’m not an invalid.”
Lara pursed her lips. Some people were so angry with the world it infused every aspect of their being. “As you have no recollection of how you arrived at the chaise, I merely wondered if your faculties have returned.”
The earl cleared his throat to hide the obvious smirk. “Miss Bennett is simply concerned for your welfare.”
“And that of your appearance, Lady Denham. You might want to have your maid tidy your hair before you return to your guests.”
The comment saw the matron practically jump to her feet. “Crudging!” she called to the butler who had slipped out into the hall. The man returned with a bow and a pleasing smile. “Serve the guests some spiced punch and have Gabrielle come to my room.”
The earl offered the matron his hand. “Would you care for an escort upstairs, Mother?”
“I can mount a few stairs, Hugo. I’m not in my dotage yet.”
Lady Denham would turn sixty in the spring. Montague had mentioned that they shared a birthday, that he was five years her senior. When she wasn’t scowling at everyone who crossed her path, she had a beautiful face, a clear complexion, captivating blue eyes that her son had inherited. Lara tried to imagine the lady as her grandfather would, a vivacious woman with heart and spirit. Wasn’t that how he described seeing her the first time they met? Alas, Montague would be sorely disappointed. Life, it seems, had tainted the matron’s heart, dulled her spirit.
