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

Though it had been partly his fault. Why had he not introduced himself properly? Why had he let her rip up at him like that?

She tore her eyes from his and made an effort to calm herself while the real footmen bustled about with plates and tureens and chafing dishes.

Lord Bridgemere struggled to pretend that he was not painfully aware of Miss Forrest’s discomfiture. What the devil had come over him this morning that he had bowed and grinned and left her thinking he was merely one of his own servants? She had been so shocked just now, upon realising her error, that she had made a complete spectacle of herself. And no gentleman would willingly expose any lady to such public humiliation.

Though how could he have guessed she would just stand there, gaping at him like that? Or that she would then glare at him, making it obvious to all that he had somehow, at some point, offered her some form of insult? None of the other ladies of his acquaintance would ever be so transparent.

No, they all hid behind their painstakingly constructed masks. The only expression they ever showed in public was mild boredom.

He fixed his gaze on his dinner companion, his sister Lady Craddock, although his mind was very far from her interminable complaining. Instead he was remembering the way thoughts of Miss Forrest imperiously ordering him about had kept on bringing a frisson of amusement to his mind, briefly dispelling the tedium of his day. When he had discovered he had made an error of a similar nature to hers, it had struck him as so funny that he had wanted to prolong the joke. He had even pencilled her name into his diary to remind himself, as if he needed any reminder, to make his way down to his study at precisely the same time he had run into her that morning in the hopes of encountering her again.

Extraordinary.

Most people would say he had no sense of humour whatever.

But they might, with some justification, accuse him of wishing to revel in the novel experience of having a woman react to him as just a man, and not as the Earl of Bridgemere. The wealthy, eligible Earl of Bridgemere. And it had been a novel experience. Miss Forrest had not simpered and flattered. No, she had roundly berated him, her dark eyes flashing fire.

He had thought then what an expressive face she had. He had been able to see exactly what she was thinking. Not that he’d needed to guess. She had already been telling him!

Somewhere inside he felt the ghost of a smile trying to break free. Naturally he stifled it, swiftly. It would not do to smile whilst engaged in conversation with either of his sisters. The slightest outward sign that he might be interested in anything either of them had to say would rouse the other to a pitch of jealousy that would make the entire company so uncomfortable they would all be running for cover.

Even now, though, he could tell exactly what emotions Miss Forrest was grappling with. Chief amongst them was chagrin, now that her initial spurt of anger with him had simmered down.

She was quite unlike any of the other guests, all of whom wore the fashionable demeanour of boredom to cloak their dissatisfaction. And they were all of them dissatisfied with their lot, in one way or another. Which irked him beyond measure! They all had so much in comparison with the vast majority of the citizens of this country. Yet they still demanded more.

And Miss Forrest and her older namesake could not be so very different—not deep down, where it mattered. Or they would not be here. It would pay him to remember that.

Only once she felt more in control of herself did Helen raise her head and look about the table. There were at least forty people ranged along its length. For a while conversation was desultory, as the guests helped themselves to generous portions of the vast selection of delicacies on offer. Her aunt looked as uncomfortable as she felt, seated between her brother the General, who was applying himself to his plate with complete concentration, and a man who was conducting a very animated flirtation with the young lady seated on his other side.

It was during the second remove that the General remarked, ‘I am surprised at you for bringing that person here, Bella,’ motioning at Helen across the table with his fork.

Aunt Bella bristled, while Helen just froze. She had felt uncomfortable enough knowing that she had made such an error of judgement about the station of the man who had turned out to be her host. And in then betraying her consternation by standing there gaping at him like a nodcock. Now, since the General had one of those voices that carried, several other conversations at the table abruptly ceased, and she felt as though once again everyone was staring at her.

‘Are you?’ replied her aunt repressively. ‘I cannot imagine why.’

‘I suppose nothing you do ought to shock me any more, Bella,’ said the General witheringly. ‘You still enjoy courting scandal, do you not?’

‘Even if that were true,’ Aunt Bella replied with a tight smile, ‘which it most emphatically is not, no true gentleman would even touch upon such a topic in company.’

Helen had the satisfaction of seeing the General flush darkly and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

But it was outweighed by the fact that she could also see her aunt’s hands were trembling.

There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated only by the genteel clink of sterling silver cutlery on porcelain. Then the lady at the foot of the table drawled, ‘The mutton is exceptionally well presented this evening, Bridgemere. You must compliment your cook.’

‘I shall certainly do so, Lady Thrapston,’ said the Earl dryly, ‘since you request it.’

For some reason this comment, or perhaps the way it was delivered, made the haughty woman look quite put out.

Lady Thrapston, Helen noted with resentment as she recalled the way Aunt Bella had been neglected upon her arrival, could in no way be described as elderly. She was so stylish that if people did not look too closely, they might take her for a fairly young woman.

There was another uncomfortable pause in the conversation before a few of the younger men, led by a gaudily dressed youth who sat at Lady Thrapston’s right hand, began to discuss the day’s shooting.

Though the atmosphere had lightened to some extent, Helen was mightily relieved when the meal drew to an end and Lady Thrapston signalled to the other ladies that it was time to withdraw by the simple expedient of getting to her feet.

Helen hurried to the doorway, and waited for her aunt to catch up with her there.

‘I am in no condition to go to the drawing room and face any more of that,’ said her aunt in an undertone. ‘Not after the shock of discovering my odious brother is here!’

Thank heavens for that, thought Helen. But only said, ‘I shall help you up to bed, then.’

They left the room arm in arm, and were ascending the first set of stairs when Helen said, ‘Would you mind very much if I were to leave you for a little while?’

Aunt Bella’s brows rose. ‘You surely do not want to face that drawing room without me?’

‘No!’ She barely repressed a shudder. ‘I most certainly do not!’

She chewed on her lower lip, wondering how much to confess to her aunt. She did not want to add to her worries by admitting she had mistaken Lord Bridgemere for one of his footmen and called him an impudent fellow. She cringed as the scene flooded back to her in all its inglorious detail.

‘I have decided it would be a good idea if I had a word with that secretary fellow, that is all…’ she began. She wanted to see if she could arrange an interview of her own, through his secretary, and get in an apology to Lord Bridgemere before he spoke to Aunt Bella. She would hate to think that her behaviour might prejudice him against her aunt in any way.

‘Oh, Helen, what a good idea! I would be so relieved to learn exactly when I shall be able to speak with Lord Bridgemere. I do not think I shall rest easy until I have laid my case before him. And you are such a pretty girl. I am sure you could persuade the young man to arrange for me to see His Lordship before my brother has a chance to turn him against me. I could not believe he would be so unmannerly as to attack me like that over dinner! It shook me, I can tell you.’

Helen had never felt more uncomfortable than to hear the erroneous assumption her aunt had made.

Yet she did nothing to correct it. It would mean making too many explanations, which she was not sure would be helpful to anyone.

Fortunately it took quite some time to run Mr Cadwallader to ground, by which time Helen had managed to regain her composure.

Though he had dined with the guests, he had retreated almost immediately afterwards to a small book-lined room in the servants’ hall.

‘I am so sorry to bother you,’ she said, knocking upon the door and putting her head round without waiting for him to reply, ‘but I was wondering if it would be possible for me to have a private interview with His Lordship. As soon as possible. At least…before whatever time you have arranged for him to speak with my aunt.’

Mr Cadwallader looked up from the pile of papers he was working on and frowned.

‘Miss Forrest, is it not?’ He flipped open a leather-bound ledger and ran his finger down the page at which it opened. His brows shot up.

‘Miss Helen Forrest?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded.

‘It appears His Lordship has already anticipated your request. He has your name here for seven o clock tomorrow morning.’

‘He has?’ She swallowed nervously. What did that mean? And was it a coincidence that he had her name down for seven? The approximate time at which she had run into him on the backstairs that very morning?

Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Good. Wh…where shall I…?’

‘Oh, you had better come in here, if he wishes to speak with you that early,’ said the young man, snapping the book shut. ‘His Lordship always comes down first thing to see to business before—’ He pulled himself up, as though he had been on the point of committing an indiscretion, rose to his feet, and ushered her to the door.