Regency Mistletoe & Marriages: A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

Helen was not about to tell this woman she had no alternative. Particularly since the Thrapston ladies were all listening avidly.

Instead, drawing herself up to her full height, she said, ‘On the contrary. I am pleased to tell anyone who may be interested that a few days hence I shall be a completely independent woman. I have already secured a post as governess to the children of a family in Derbyshire.’

The girls looked horrified.

‘I do not scruple to tell you, young lady,’ said Lady Thrapston, shaking her head, ‘that it is not at all the thing to boast about taking employment. No true lady would stoop to such measures. I have heard that Isabella Forrest is something of an eccentric, and if this is an example of the kind of thing she has taught you—’

‘Though, if it is true,’ Mrs Forrest interrupted, ‘my husband will be most relieved. Perhaps he need no longer be at outs with Bella, and then she might—’

Helen was by now beside herself with anger. She clenched her fists. What right had Lady Thrapston to make any sort of observation about her conduct? None whatever! And how dared Mrs Forrest assume Aunt Bella would meekly make a will in her brother’s favour after the way he had treated her?

Her eyes narrowing, she took a pace towards the three Thrapstons.

She had just taken a breath to make a pithy rejoinder when the hedge to the south of where they were standing suddenly erupted. A dog that was very nearly the size of a pony got its shoulders through and then, barking joyously, bounded straight towards them. From the long, matted hair Helen recognised the hound which had been sprawled on the hearthrug in His Lordship’s study the morning before.

Helen had never been so glad to see such a disreputable-looking animal, or so impressed by the effect it had on her erstwhile tormentors. Emitting shrill shrieks, Lady Thrapston and her daughters darted round behind Helen before the dog managed to reach them. Mrs Forrest, even less stalwart in the face of danger, simply took to her heels and fled. Helen could hardly wait to inform Aunt Bella just how athletic her sister-in-law was. How it would make her laugh to hear of that sudden turn of speed!

The hearthrug dog, meanwhile, had reached its target and leapt up, setting its paws on Helen’s chest and licking her face. Only the press of females cowering behind her stopped her from falling flat on her back.

‘Eeurgh!’ Helen could not help exclaiming, screwing her eyes tight shut, wishing that she could somehow stop her nostrils, too. She was not used to dogs, and found the exuberance of his slobbery greeting somewhat too pungent for her liking. Though she did not feel the least bit frightened. She had no doubt it was a doggy sort of friendship the great beast was demonstrating, and felt rather scornful of the two girls who were now squealing with fright, cowering behind her and Lady Thrapston.

‘Esau!’ the Earl’s voice boomed across the lawn. ‘Devil take it, what do you think you are doing?’

The dog looked in the direction of his master’s voice, drool dripping slowly from his lolling tongue.

The Earl forced his way through the hedge just where the dog had broken through. He took the situation in and snapped his fingers. ‘Heel, I say! Heel!’

To Helen, it looked as though the dog sighed and shrugged its shoulders before obediently dropping to the ground and loping across to his master’s side, where he flopped to the ground and rolled on his back, paws waving in the air.

‘I am not going to rub your stomach, you hell hound!’ the Earl snapped.

The dog merely looked up at him adoringly and wriggled encouragingly.

Helen, already struck by the humour of the situation, could barely stifle her giggles. She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief, covering her grin under the pretext of vigorously wiping away the slobber that coated her cheeks.

‘Really, Bridgemere,’ said Lady Thrapston, emerging from behind Helen. ‘Have you no control over that animal?’

‘Better than you have over your own manners,’ he replied coldly. ‘You have a very carrying sort of voice, My Lady, and I beg leave to inform you that you have no business berating Miss Forrest upon her future plans. Plans which, in any case, I regard as admirable!’

‘Excuse me…’ Helen put in, suddenly cross all over again. Though it was quite pleasant to hear the Earl say that he found her admirable, she was not in the least bit pleased that he was saying what she would have said herself, had the dog not put a halt to proceedings.

The Earl made an impatient gesture with his hand.

‘Not now, Miss Forrest!’ he snapped, his eyes fixed upon his sister. ‘I find it remarkably refreshing to hear that there is at least one woman in England who does not have marriage to a wealthy man as her goal after having been launched expensively into society!’

At that point Helen’s temper came to the boil. It was beyond rude for these two aristocrats to stand there arguing about her as though she was not present. Besides, it was perfectly clear they were not arguing about her at all, but about what Lady Thrapston expected Bridgemere to do for her daughters.

Who were both close to tears.

‘Don’t you assume you know anything about me or my goals, My Lord!’ she said. ‘It is only women with a dowry and a family behind them who have the luxury of taking the route of which you speak! And, since I have not a penny to my name, I should have thought it would be obvious even to you that route is not open to me!’

‘You see?’ said the Countess. ‘Even this creature would rather marry than work for a living! You have heard it from her own lips!’

The Earl swung to her, his eyes blazing, as though he felt she had betrayed him.

Not a penny to her name? What nonsense was this? From the preliminary enquiries he had made, it was generally known that she stood to inherit a substantial fortune from Isabella Forrest. Who was already keeping her in some style.

‘N…no, I did not mean that, exactly…’ Helen stammered, her eyes flicking from brother to sister and back again.

‘Come, girls,’ said Lady Thrapston imperiously. ‘We shall return to the house, since His Lordship chooses to exercise that beast where his guests should feel safe to walk!’

Her nose in the air, she swished across the lawns, her two subdued daughters scurrying along behind her.

The dog rolled itself upright and woofed once after them, as though in triumph.

Helen stood frozen to the spot by Lord Bridgemere’s glacial stare. He waited until the other ladies were out of earshot before speaking again, while Helen braced herself for yet another battle royal.

‘I trust you are unharmed?’ he said, completely taking the wind out of her sails. ‘For some reason,’ he drawled, as though there was no accounting for the working of a dog’s mind, ‘Esau regards you as a friend. The moment he heard your voice he made straight for you to make his presence known.’

‘Straight, yes,’ she agreed. ‘Straight through the hedge,’ she amended, a bubble of mirth welling up inside her as she recalled the consternation he had caused. Then with a perfectly straight face she reached up and plucked a yew twig from the front of Lord Bridgemere’s waistcoat. ‘And you came straight after him,’ she observed, tossing the twig to the ground.

‘He frightens some females,’ he countered. ‘He is so large and…’

‘So sadly out of control.’ She shook her head in mock reproof.

His brows drew down into a scowl. ‘No, that is not the case at all. He is very well trained…’

Abruptly she averted her face, as though glancing towards the dog, who was now sniffing away at the foot of the hedge. But not quite quickly enough to hide the laughter brimming.

He caught at her chin and turned her face towards him, studying it in perplexity. Then suddenly comprehension dawned.

‘You…you are teasing me!’

For a moment she felt as though her fate hung in the balance. It was the height of impertinence for one of her station to treat a man of his rank with such lack of respect.

But then he smiled.

Really smiled—as though she had just handed him some immensely rare and unexpected gift.

Her stomach swooped and soared—just as it had done when, as a little girl, she had taken a turn on her garden swing.

She had thought him attractive, in a dangerous sort of way, when she had believed he was merely a footman. Had imagined maidservants queuing up to kiss that mouth when it had been hard and cynical. But the intensity of that smile was downright lethal. As she gazed, transfixed, at those happily curved lips, with his hand still cupping her chin gently, she wished that he would pull her closer, slant that mouth across her own…

With a gasp, she pulled away from him.

His smile faded. He looked down at the hand that had been cupping her chin as though its behaviour confused him.

‘E…Esau?’ she stammered, determined to break the intensity of the mood. ‘You called him that because he is so hairy, I take it?’