A Countess by Christmas Page 10

  ‘Though,’ she said ruefully, ‘I do not know as much about children as you seem to imagine. The post I am about to take is my first. However, I do think this will be a lovely surprise for them.’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at the glassy smooth surface he had created. Then she looked straight at him. ‘Or for any adult who does not have too inflated an opinion of their own dignity.’

  ‘So you think I have an over-inflated view of my importance?’ he replied coldly. ‘You think me a very dull fellow, in fact? As well as being hard and unfeeling when it comes to the plight of elderly relatives? I see.’

  He gave her a curt bow. ‘Perhaps it is time we returned to the house.’ He eyed her nose, which had a fatal tendency to go bright red in cold weather. His lips twisted with contempt. ‘I can see that you are getting cold.’

  She knew it looked most unattractive, but did he really have to be so ungentlemanly as to draw attention to it? Anyone would think he was trying to hurt her.

  As if he wanted to get back at her for hurting him.

  Oh. No…surely not?

  But if that were the case…

  ‘I never said I thought you hard and unfeeling. Well, not exactly! Don’t go pokering up at me like that!’ she protested.

  To his back.

  He was already striding out in the direction of the house. She would have to trot to keep up with him, never mind catch up with him. She stopped, hands on her hips, and gave a huff of exasperation.

  If only it had snowed recently. There was nothing she wanted so much as to fling a large wet snowball at him and knock his hat off!

  Except, perhaps, put her arms round him in a consoling hug and tell him she had never meant to insult him. Though she would have to catch up with him to accomplish that. And he had no intention of being caught.

  ‘Ooh…’ she breathed, shaking her head in exasperation with herself. What on earth had made her fancy there had been a glimmer of attraction burning in his eyes when he had invited her to come walking with him? Well, if it had ever been there it was gone now. He had just looked at her as though she were something slimy that had crawled out from underneath a rock.

  It was not the kind of look she was used to getting from men. Aunt Bella had reminded her only recently that she was a pretty girl. Had urged her to win Mr Cadwallader over with one of her smiles. Had she become vain in recent years? She lowered her head in chagrin as she began to trudge back to the house in Lord Bridgemere’s wake. Though she had never actively sought it, she had come to regard flattering male attention as her due.

  There were some who would say she was getting a taste of her own medicine, no doubt. Because whenever one of the men of Middleton had sidled up to her in the market, or some such place, under some spurious pretext, to tell her how pretty she was, she had felt nothing for them but contempt. And now the first man she had met who had actually awoken some interest was completely impervious to her charms. He had not paid her a single compliment, nor tried to hold her hand, or snatch a kiss. And yet whenever she was in Lord Bridgemere’s vicinity kissing seemed to be all she could think about.

  Whereas he, to judge by the stiff set of his shoulders as he drew steadily further and further away, found her annoying.

  She flinched, wondering why that knowledge should hurt so much. These days he was out of her reach socially, anyway. Perhaps, she decided glumly, it was just that he represented everything that was now out of her reach. The social standing and the affluence that she had taken for granted when she and Aunt Bella had been so comfortably off.

  There was nothing so appealing as something that you knew you could never have.

  That afternoon Helen took the opportunity to slip away to the library, since the light in there was so much better than it was in their room, with her sewing basket tucked under her arm. She had told her aunt that she intended to make a start on the alterations she had already decided her gowns needed, and the minor repairs her encounters with Lord Bridgemere had made necessary. But really she wanted to get on with the little gift she had been sewing for Aunt Bella. Besides which, the floor-to-ceiling windows contained some heraldic designs which she wanted to sketch. She had decided to use them as a basis for another project which, it had occurred to her, she must complete very swiftly, since it lacked only three days until Christmas.

  She made herself comfortable upon one of the window seats with which the room was blessed, and bent her mind to the task in hand. She was not sure how long she had been sitting there when she became aware she was no longer alone.

  She looked up from the tangle of silks on her lap to find Lord Bridgemere standing in the doorway. His face was, as usual, hard to read.

  Helen felt her cheeks grow hot, and knew she was blushing. It was the first time she had seen him since that early-morning walk of which she’d had such high expectations. And which had resulted in her making such a fool of herself and caused her a morning of quite painful soul-searching as she’d faced up to several unpleasant truths about her character. She had come to the conclusion that whenever Lord Bridgemere looked at her what he saw was a very vain and silly woman.

  ‘I was just passing,’ he said, moving his arm towards the corridor outside. ‘And I saw you sitting here alone.’

  And had been transfixed by the way the sunlight gilded her hair, the pout of her lips as she concentrated on whatever it was that she was doing.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Why are you on your own, Miss Forrest? Is your aunt unwell?’

  Even as he said it he knew that she would not be down here if that were the case. She would be upstairs, nursing her adopted relative. Or down in the kitchens, making some remedy for her. She would not have bothered to ring the bell. A smile kicked up one corner of his mouth as he pictured her marching into the kitchens and elbowing his servants aside to concoct some remedy which only she knew how to make to her own satisfaction.

  ‘Far from it,’ replied Helen, wondering what could have put that strange smile on his face. Did she have a smut on her nose? Or was he just recalling one of the many ways she had made a fool of herself since she had come here?

  ‘Aunt Bella is in the card room with Lady Norton. They plan to spend the afternoon drinking tea and gossiping about the fate of mutual acquaintances.’

  Her face was so expressive he could not miss a little trace of pique at the way the older woman was treating her. There was something going on between these two ladies that he needed to uncover. The general belief was that Helen was the older Miss Forrest’s sole heir. But she had told him she needed to go out to work because she was penniless.

  Yet she was still fiercely loyal to her adopted aunt. Whatever had happened between them, it had not soured her.

  He found himself walking towards her.

  ‘And what is it you are doing?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much!’ Helen quickly stuffed her rough sketches of the Bridgemere coat of arms into her work-basket, and held up the bodice of one of the gowns she was altering. ‘Tedious stuff. Making buttonholes and such,’ she said.

  His brows lowered slightly. ‘Is there nothing more amusing you could be doing?’

  Helen grappled with a sense of exasperation. She had accused him of neglecting her and her aunt, had felt resentful of the amusements he had provided for the other guests. Yet now he was here, playing the gracious host, she felt uncomfortable. She was not an invited guest. She had done nothing but cause trouble since she had entered his house. And he must have a thousand and one more important things to do with his time. He ought not to be wasting it on her.

  ‘Please do not trouble yourself with me. I am quite content. I…I would actually prefer to be doing something useful than frittering the time away with cards or gossip.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Sometimes Miss Forrest said things that were so exactly what he felt about life himself that it was as though…

  He sat down on the window seat beside her and took hold of the piece of material draped across her lap.


  ‘Oh, be careful of the pins!’

  He let it go. He had only focussed on it because he had not wanted to look into her face. Lest she see…what? A quickening of interest that she very obviously did not return? She thought him hard and unfeeling, full of his own importance. And worst of all dull. There was no worse character flaw a man could have in the eyes of a girl as lively as this. Had not Lucinda told him so often enough?

  It took Helen a great effort to sit completely still. The material which he had dropped back onto her lap was warm from his hand. The fleeting sense that it might have been the touch of his hand on her leg had created an echoing warmth in the pit of her stomach. Which was even now sinking lower, to bloom between her thighs.

  Oh, Lord, she hoped he had no idea how his proximity was affecting her! Why did it have to be this man, the one man she knew she could never have, who was making her respond in such a shocking way?

  ‘If you really would enjoy being useful, it occurs to me that there is a way in which we could help each other,’ he said, laying his arm casually along the edge of the windowsill.

  Did he know that extending his arm like that made her feel enclosed by his arms? Was he doing it on purpose, to make her even more conscious of him?

  And in what way could she possibly be of any help to him?

  Unless she had betrayed her interest in him?

  He had no need to marry, but if a woman was silly enough to let him know how physically attractive she found him, might he think he could cajole her into a brief affair?

  ‘I don’t think there can possibly be any way I could be of help to you,’ she said primly, averting her head. If he was going to insult her by suggesting what she thought he was, then she had no intention of letting him see how much it would hurt!

  ‘You said this morning that you do not have much experience with children, Miss Forrest. And it just so happens that there is a whole batch of them here. They have come with their parents, who have consigned them away upstairs with their nurses. If you wanted to gain some experience with working with children before you take up your first post, then here is an ideal opportunity.’

  Experience with children. Of course. She let out the breath she had been holding, chiding herself for once again rating her charms far more highly than Lord Bridgemere obviously did. Here was she, thinking he was about to make her an improper suggestion, while nothing could have been further from his mind. Would she never learn?

  ‘The children of your guests?’ she echoed faintly. ‘You wish me to go and help…?’

  ‘I have already enlisted the services of Reverend Mullen. He has written the script, which he tells me he has based mostly on the gospel of Luke…’

  ‘Wait a minute. Script?’ She raised her head to look at him, quite puzzled. ‘What script? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I forgot. This is your first visit to Alvanley Hall, and you are not aware of the traditions that prevail.’ He leaned back, his eyes fixed intently on her face. ‘Each year I throw a ball for my tenants on Boxing Day, as part of my gift to them to reward them for all their hard work and loyalty to me throughout the year. Out at one of the barns on the home farm. The children who are brought by their parents to stay at the Hall always put on a little entertainment for them to start the evening’s festivities. The villagers always perform their mummer’s plays for me on Christmas Day, and so I return the favour by getting up this party for them. And, of course, it helps to keep the children occupied during their stay here.’

  ‘Of course,’ she echoed faintly, still feeling somewhat resentful that it had not occurred to him to make her a proposition. Which she would naturally have refused! But still…

  ‘So would you, then? Like to become involved in putting on the production for my tenants?’ Or did she consider it was beneath her to spend her time coaching the children to perform for rustics?

  She was not quite sure how she could be of any help, since he had already told her that Reverend Mullen was writing the script and coaching the children through their parts. She had no experience whatever of amateur theatricals. And the children had their own nurses to see to whatever else it was they needed.

  Yet it would be a good opportunity to see how the children of the very upper echelons of society were organised, even if she could contribute very little.

  The experience would be of more benefit to her, she suspected, than to Lord Bridgemere.

  ‘Thank you, My Lord,’ she said through gritted teeth, wondering why his eyes had turned so cold. ‘I should find the experience most beneficial.’

  It was ridiculous to let the Earl’s treatment of her hurt so much. It was not as if she had seriously believed there could ever be anything between them. And as for those brief flashes of feeling as though she was totally in tune with him…well, they had clearly existed only in her own mind. Lord Bridgemere might have paid her a little attention, but she could see now that it had only been to assess how he could make the best use of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I must leave you now. Cadwallader has arranged a full afternoon for me, and would be most put out if I ruined his timetable. Can you find your own way up to the nursery?’

  ‘If not, I can always ask for directions,’ she replied acidly.

  She got to her feet and began tidying her work away as soon as he’d left the room. Though she disliked being on the receiving end of Lord Bridgemere’s demonstration of his organisational skills, she would appreciate the experience of working with some children before she took up her new post. Even though she had decided, when all the money had disappeared, that she would find consolation in moulding young minds in the way Aunt Bella had moulded hers, she was a little nervous about how exactly she would go about the task. Lord Bridgemere could not have hit upon a better way of helping her become accustomed to her new station in life.

  Drat him.

  Helen enjoyed the rest of the afternoon much more than she had expected. To begin with, the Reverend Mullen welcomed her with an enthusiasm that was a balm to her wounded pride.

  ‘Ah, good, good— His Lordship has managed to persuade you to lend your talents to our little endeavours,’ he beamed, when she entered the huge attic space which had been converted into a rehearsal area. ‘I have cast the children as best as I can,’ he said, ‘and rehearsed them once or twice, but they are in dire need of costumes. His Lordship told me you consider yourself a most competent needlewoman, and would be able to help on that front.’

  Helen’s lips compressed as she recalled flinging those very words at Lord Bridgemere on the day she had rejected his offer of a new gown to replace the one Esau had spoiled.

  But it was hard to stay cross for very long in the atmosphere of jollity over which the Reverend Mullen presided. He was scarcely any older than Nicholas Swaledale, she reflected, yet two youths could not have been more different. The Reverend was earnest, diligent and…well, worthy was the word that kept on springing to mind in his regard.

  And the children, unlike their parents, all seemed to regard their visit to Alvanley Hall as the highlight of their year.

  ‘Christmas last year was horrid,’ said the tubby lad who was to play the part of Joseph, while she was measuring him for his costume. ‘Mama and Papa wanted us to keep out of the way while they had their parties. And they forgot all about us. We never got a big feast, like we had the year before at Alvanley. Will we be having a children’s feast, this year, Miss Forrest?’ he asked excitedly. ‘We had cake and jelly and ices last time, I remember.’

  ‘I do not know. This is the very first time I have been here.’

  Immediately ‘Joseph’s’ expression turned pitying. ‘Never mind, you’re here now. Perhaps you will be able to come to our feast with us, and then you’ll see!’

  ‘I think I should like that.’ She laughed. Far more than the deadly formal banquet she guessed would be provided for the adults.

  It would be wonderful to stay up here with the children and servants…<
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  She sucked in a sharp breath. Why had she not seen it before? He had not invited her. She was here as the companion of Aunt Bella, nothing more. He had placed her in a room he’d told her was allotted to upper servants, and when he’d seen her making use of his library, as though she was a guest with the right to make free with the public rooms, he had sent her up here, where the Reverend Mullen could find fitting work for her to do!

  She flushed angrily. He thought of her as a servant! It was not his wish to help her gain some experience with children that had prompted him to send her up here. No, he was just putting her in her place! Keeping her out of sight of his relatives, several of whom clearly objected to her presence.

  ‘Did you prick your finger?’ asked the pretty little girl who was to play the part of Mary.

  When Helen had first come up here the child had run her eyes over her rather plain gown and looked as though she had immediately relegated her to the status of servant. But in spite of that she stopped sifting through the pile of materials that had been provided to make up the costumes the moment Helen gasped.

  ‘I am always pricking my finger when I sew my sampler. You should use a thimble,’ she said, nodding sagely.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Helen amending her impression of her as a haughty little madam. ‘I shall remember that.’

  ‘We get nice presents here, too,’ she said absently, resuming her search for something she deemed fit to appear on stage in. ‘All of us. Nobody is forgotten,’ she said, with such a wistful air that Helen suspected she must have suffered such a fate herself. ‘And we get to stay up really late to put on our play. And all the grown-ups watch us and clap their hands. Even Mama and Papa.’

  Helen could barely refrain from putting her arms round the child and giving her a hug. Her words spoke volumes about the way she was usually treated in her own home.