One winters night, p.7
One Winter's Night, page 7
“Then you know scoundrels always rise to the challenge.” The viscount laughed until Lord Denham approached and clasped the man’s shoulder in a firm grip. While it appeared a friendly gesture, Lara noted Lord Denham’s rigid jaw and the murderous glare in his eyes.
“Miss Bennett surpassed our expectations.” The earl directed his comment to Lord Northcott. “Though one wonders why Miss Venables is staring at you like she might tear you limb from limb. Indeed, her fiery red hair reflects her hot temper.”
The viscount glanced over his shoulder and snorted. “Am I to blame if the hired help finds herself a little in love with me?”
Judging by Miss Venables’ flushed cheeks and ugly sneer, the viscount had encouraged the woman’s infatuation. Perhaps Mr Bellham had threatened to inform Miss Harper, for she seemed oblivious to the disdainful daggers thrown by her paid companion.
“A man of your position should know better,” the earl countered. “Though let us say no more on the matter in front of Miss Bennett.”
Indeed, no one had a chance to discuss it further. Miss Harper strolled over. With reluctance, she congratulated Lara on her ability to rouse emotion in the hearts of those who’d listened. Apparently, even Lady Denham had shed a tear.
“Now, as no one is capable of following Miss Bennett’s performance, I think it’s time to make use of the mistletoe.” Miss Harper toyed with her brown ringlets and batted her lashes at Lord Denham. “I’ve never seen a sprig with so many berries.”
“Mistletoe is meant for couples who wish to steal secret kisses,” the earl replied. “No one here falls into that category.”
“Oh, come, my lord. What better way to test compatibility than to press your lips to a maiden’s cheek? Such an intimate gesture is sure to stir something in your chest.” Miss Harper gave a half laugh. “Come, it’s just a silly Christmas game. Something to distract our minds from the dastardly deed committed yesterday.”
“Well, you can count me in,” the viscount drawled, offering Lara a wily wink. “I’m rather skilled when it comes to spreading Christmas cheer.”
Before the earl could protest, Miss Harper turned to the guests and, with childish excitement that seemed wholly uncharacteristic, clapped her hands and told them all to line up ready for the game. Of course, she sold the idea to Lady Denham by informing the countess that such frivolity was necessary if the earl had any hope of making his choice.
“We don’t need to pick the berries.” Miss Harper lined the ladies up to form a queue at the drawing room door. Miss Venables was permitted to take Miss Mason-Jones’ place when the lady burst into tears again and raced from the room. “Perhaps Lord Denham might like to pick one and present it as a token of his esteem.”
Lord Denham sidled next to Lara as she took her place near the end of the line and whispered, “You continue to surprise me with your skill, Miss Bennett. No doubt you would beat me at cards if I were brave enough to join you at the table.”
Lara smiled at the compliment. “You forget I have spent eight years living with Montague Forsyth. If you wish to wager with me, my lord, be aware that I could take everything you own.”
It was his turn to smile. “Observe this game with a keen eye, Miss Bennett. One never knows when one might stumble upon a clue.” And then he moved to join the other men in the hall.
Lord Flanders went first. The gentleman seemed pleased to kiss any woman apt to show him her cheek. His slippery lips lingered for far too long, and when it was Lara’s turn, he whispered, “I have a question to ask you once the weekend is through.”
Lord Denham muttered under his breath. He gave a frustrated sigh when the viscount stepped forward to take his turn.
Lord Northcott made an innocent kiss look like a prelude to something far more sinful. Except when giving his sister a quick peck. With Lara, he captured her hand, stroked his thumb seductively across her palm and whispered, “You know where my room is if you have the energy for a bit of sport, Miss Bennett.”
When it came to Miss Venables’ turn to accept a kiss from the viscount, the lady stepped so close she almost trod on his shoes. The vixen arched her back, an exaggerated display to best show off the swell of her large breasts. The viscount maintained an air of indifference much to the lady’s annoyance.
“I might be the hired help, but never forget I am a gentleman’s daughter,” Miss Venables mumbled before rejoining the queue for those wishing to receive a kiss from Lord Denham.
Lord Denham kissed his mother first. He cupped her cheek, said something about his only wish for Christmas was that she might be happy. Next, Miss Pardue insisted on kissing the earl’s cheek, too, for why should a man always dominate? Miss Harper’s hands weaved their way up his chest, and the earl was forced to clutch her wrists to stop them venturing any further.
When it came to Lara, he stared at her for the longest time. Then he took hold of her hand, pressed something into her palm and kissed her cheek. The sudden rush of excitement sent her heart skipping to her throat. “You hold me spellbound, Miss Bennett.” His hot breath breezed over her face. His velvet voice sent tingles shooting to her toes.
Lara wasn’t sure if her legs would support her weight as she returned to the room, such were the dizzying effects of feeling his mouth on her skin. As she rejoined the guests, she grew more aware of the tiny object hidden in her clenched fist. She glanced down and dared to peek at the perfect white berry. A symbol of hope and peace, some said. A symbol of love and fertility Montague said every year when a footman took to hanging the sprig. In this case, a token of Lord Denham’s respect and admiration.
Her heart fluttered like a bird in her breast, fanning the flames of desire. As if the pounding pulse in her neck wasn’t enough to contend with, the thud of the iron knocker hitting the front door raised it another notch.
Lara clutched the berry, ignored Miss Harper’s irate sneer and focused her attention on the men standing in the hall. She knew what was coming, but time slowed. The hum of conversation faded while she waited for Lord Montague Forsyth to make an appearance.
Crudging approached Lord Denham, whose gaze was fixed to the front door. The earl turned his attention to her next, and she thought she saw disappointment pass fleetingly over his features. The fear that Montague might let slip some part of the plan dulled Lara’s senses.
“Who is it, Hugo?” Lady Denham called from her seat on the sofa. The matron stood. “Is it the vicar? Are we able to travel to the village and attend the church service?”
Lara watched the earl bow to someone they could not see. He spoke and gestured towards the drawing room. “No, Mother. Lord Forsyth has come to enquire after Miss Bennett.”
And with that, Lady Denham swooned.
Chapter Seven
“Might I be of some assistance, Denham?” Lord Forsyth strode towards the sofa with the suave sophistication of a much younger man. His athletic physique and lively manner belied his growing years. He touched his granddaughter affectionately on the cheek as he passed and said, “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you safe and well.”
Envy—the most wicked of vices—reared its head when Miss Bennett’s beguiling eyes swam with warmth and affection for the gentleman.
Hugo considered his mother stretched out on the sofa, a bolster cushion supporting her head. “Were it not for the despicable weather, I would send for a physician.” Upon Miss Bennett’s insistence, the other guests had retired to the family’s private sitting room overlooking the gardens.
“The countess doesn’t need a physician.” Forsyth flicked the tails of his immaculate dark blue coat and crouched at the lady’s side. “She’s had a fright, and who can blame her. No doubt she never expected our paths to cross again.”
“Crudging has gone for water.” Miss Bennett bit down on her bottom lip. She appeared less confident now Lord Forsyth had arrived. Perhaps her uncertainty stemmed from the shock of seeing the gentleman, who had somehow managed to travel from Chippenham to Upavon without assistance from the cavalry.
“A nip of brandy should suffice.” Lord Forsyth smoothed his hand down his grey hair—tied at the nape with black ribbon—and considered the patient.
“We tried that last time but to no avail,” Miss Bennett said, smiling weakly through pursed lips when Hugo met her gaze.
“The brandy is for me, not Penelope,” Forsyth said. “The woman will curse me to the devil when she wakes.”
“You’ve met before.” It was a statement of fact. The lord seemed too familiar when dealing with the countess. “And not merely to pass pleasantries.”
Forsyth captured the lady’s hand and patted it gently. “We courted for six months before she married your father. I have not seen her for over forty years.”
Penelope had used the word seducer when referring to the gentleman. Was this fellow the reason she’d spent her life lonely and dejected? Had Montague Forsyth stolen something other than his mother’s heart? Was that why she’d had no choice but to marry Bartholomew de Wold?
Hugo cleared his throat. “Then perhaps yours should not be the first face she sees upon waking. Clearly your presence causes her distress.”
He should tell the lord to leave, throw the rakish gentleman out for his past misdemeanour. But the thought of him taking his granddaughter away from Wollaston Hall caused a sudden pang in Hugo’s chest.
“There is a marked difference between shock and distress,” the lord replied as he stared at Hugo’s mother with the tenderness of a man with good intentions. “But know that the last thing I wish to do is cause her upset.”
Miss Bennett stepped closer and touched Hugo’s sleeve. “Perhaps it’s best that she sees him. The mere mention of his name affects her deeply. Is it not better to discover the reason for such strong reactions? For Lady Denham’s sake?”
As always, Miss Bennett’s logical comments eased his anxiety. “Very well, but should my mother insist you leave, I must abide by her request.” Good God! His stomach roiled at the thought of standing at the window and watching Miss Bennett disappear from his life as quickly as whence she came.
“I understand, Denham.” Forsyth glanced up at his granddaughter and smiled. “You look beautiful in red, Lara, just as I knew you would.”
Hugo’s stomach roiled again. Numerous times this evening, he’d imagined capturing Miss Bennett in his arms and whispering similar words of praise, though he’d been raining kisses along her delicate jawline, too.
“It is not my preferred choice,” she said, echoing the sentiment she had expressed earlier.
“As I well know.” Mischief flashed in Forsyth’s dark eyes. “And your modiste has been a little more daring with the cut, I see.”
“Too daring. I shall have words with her when next we meet.” Miss Bennet’s smile faded. “But before Lady Denham wakes, we must tell you of something dreadful that occurred last night. Well, perhaps it is better if his lordship explains.” She cast Hugo a look filled with confidence in his ability to speak tactfully.
“I’m sure you must know Lord Bellham,” Hugo began, stealing a quick glance at his mother.
“Frederick? Indeed. He often visits me in Chippenham. I’ve thrashed him at piquet more times than I can count.” Forsyth arched a brow. “What of it?”
“We found his nephew Bertram collapsed at the gate last night, a blade thrust between his ribs.”
“A blade? What the devil!” Forsyth did not jump to his feet in shock but remained crouched at Lady Denham’s side, gripping her hand. “Is he dead?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Have you informed the boy’s father? What did the coroner say? Was it footpads?”
“The coroner lives on the road to Marlborough, some three miles past Pewsey. We’re still awaiting his arrival and that of the magistrate Sir Ellis.” It suddenly occurred to Hugo that Lord Forsyth had made the twenty-mile journey from Chippenham when the blizzards made it impossible for people to travel more than a few miles.
Lord Forsyth turned to his granddaughter. A mix of fear and guilt flashed in his eyes. “You say you found Bellham’s body? And you’ve borne such distress alone, my dear?”
“We found the gentleman.” Miss Bennett tapped Hugo lightly on the coat sleeve, an action that caused Lord Forsyth to narrow his gaze. “Lord Denham has been a great support, and we’ve borne the burden together.”
No doubt guilt flashed in Hugo’s eyes, too. A gentleman of Lord Forsyth’s reputation, with a granddaughter of unequivocal beauty, would jump to the obvious conclusion.
“We were riding back from West Chisenbury after retrieving Miss Bennett’s valise,” Hugo explained.
“Most men would send a groom.”
“I am not most men.”
An awkward silence descended.
Thankfully, his mother chose the opportune moment to open her eyes and mutter a few incoherent words. She gripped Lord Forsyth’s hand and looked the distinguished gentleman in the eye. Two blinks was all it took for her to snatch her hand back and shoot bolt upright.
“Montague?” The name came out in a breathless pant.
“It seems you suffered a shock, Penelope.” Forsyth spoke in the smooth, rich voice of a man who nurtured an affection for the lady on the sofa. Indeed, the energy in the room shifted, grew intimate rather than tense. “I’m the last person you expected to see, I know.”
The lady clasped her hands to her chest and gulped. She tried to speak, but no words escaped. It was the first time Hugo had ever seen the matron dumbstruck. Her frantic gaze searched Forsyth’s face, his sleek hair, the expensive cut of his coat.
“You look remarkably well,” she said softly, tucking a few loose tendrils behind her ears as she continued to stare through watery eyes. Oddly, her voice was lighter than he’d ever heard before.
“And you are just as beguiling.”
Silence ensued, though it carried a thousand unspoken words.
Penelope blinked and a single tear landed on her cheek. “It’s been forty years. Not once have I seen you in London.”
Forsyth wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb. “It’s been forty-one years and three months, Penelope, and you know how I despise the hypocrisy of polite society. Besides, a man might be prone to call out those gentlemen who tore his life to shreds.”
The lady swallowed deeply. She appeared remorseful, not at all a woman ruined by a rake and forced to marry an earl with ice for a heart. “It was so long ago I cannot recall the last time we met.”
“Can you not?” Forsyth’s tone carried more than a hint of mischief. “It was the night you crept out of your parents’ house and met me at the lake. We strolled around the garden for an hour until you suggested we take a dip. You must remember.”
Excitement sparked in the lady’s eyes, but it faded quickly as if the dark cloud of a bitter memory obscured the lovely vision. “Of course I don’t remember. You must be speaking of one of the many women you courted after I’d wed.” Jealousy infused her tone now, and she sounded much like the matron again. “A lady of quality does not strip off her clothes and indulge in a midnight swim.”
Forsyth snorted. “Penelope, I said nothing about removing our clothes, gave no indication of the time, yet you are correct on both counts.”
A blush stained the lady’s cheeks. A blush of all things. Who’d have thought? She looked beyond the gentleman’s shoulder and slipped on her haughty mask. The sour expression returned. “This is hardly an appropriate conversation to have in front of my son, or your granddaughter for that matter. Did they tell you a man is dead?”
Lord Forsyth shook his head and came to his feet. “Yes, footpads attacked Bellham’s nephew at the gate, though one must question why they didn’t rob him at a more secluded point along the lane.” He offered Penelope his hand.
She looked at it as if one touch might scald her skin. But after a brief hesitation, she grasped his fingers and permitted him to help her stand.
“One must assume the villain isn’t native to the area. The locals know the roads.” The lady brushed her skirts and patted the sides of her hair.
“Speaking of roads,” Hugo began, keen to question the lord about his miraculous journey. “Did you travel the twenty miles from Chippenham on horseback? And what prompted you to call here?”
A man might be suspicious of the coincidence. There must be a hundred houses where Miss Bennett might claim assistance while en route from London.
“I’ve not come from Chippenham but from Netheravon. With the first flurry of snow, I decided to ride out and meet my granddaughter but got as far as Amesbury before turning back.” He looked upon Miss Bennett as if she were a precious jewel—and he was not wrong. “Somehow, we missed each other on the road, though the innkeeper in Netheravon remembered seeing a beautiful woman wearing a red cloak like the one I bought her for her birthday. Noting numerous horseless carriages lined along the hedgerow no more than a mile from here, this seemed like the place a woman in distress would call.” Forsyth arched a brow. “Does that answer your questions, Lord Denham?”
While the gentleman’s confidence and captivating character would give credence to any story, something didn’t feel quite right.
“Now,” Forsyth continued, adjusting the cuffs of his coat, “while you’ve afforded my granddaughter every kindness, we have inconvenienced you enough.”
Hugo’s blood ran cold. “You intend to leave? In this godforsaken weather?” Panic rose in his chest. “I’m told the roads are impassable between here and Cherhill. Even if travel were possible, the coroner and Sir Ellis will want to question Miss Bennett as a witness to the death of Mr Bellham.” Relief coursed through his veins upon finding a plausible excuse for them to stay. And while he had delivered his speech with the usual aplomb, suspicion passed over Lord Forsyth’s noble features.
“Obviously, you must stay,” Hugo’s mother said. One could not help but notice the sudden spark of excitement in her eyes, or the slight hint of desperation clinging to every syllable. “Only a fool would risk his neck riding in this abominable weather.”
