Christmas at Engalworth (Merry Men of Eton)

Chapter 1

Alan Hensworth ran a hand through his golden blond curls as he stared at the missive. His heart tripped into a syncopated rhythm that left him a bit lightheaded. Was his sister serious? He scanned her letter again.

Dearest Alan,

I hope you do not mind, but I have extended an invitation to Miss Grace Lenning to spend the Christmas season with us at Engalworth Court.

I’ve offered to sponsor her for the season and since we will be leaving directly from Engalworth to London, Anthony and I deemed it best that she should come to us early.

In addition, I have offered rooms to Mr. and Mrs. Lenning, along with Miss Lenning’s younger sister, for the week before Christmas and until Twelfth Night, as their mother is to spend the holiday with her grandchildren in Dorset.

He stopped. The rest of the letter contained reports of his nephew George. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the toddler, but the news of his exploits into block stacking and terrorizing Emma’s Yorkshire terrier held little interest with the more pressing announcement.

Grace Lenning was coming to Engalworth.

He set the letter on the desk and leaned back in his chair. His eyes strayed to the windows at his left, but he didn’t see the bare trees or the overcast sky beyond. No, his mind was much more pleasantly engaged.

Grace, the younger sister of Mr. Lenning—a friend to Alan’s cousin Fredrick—was everything lovely and good. Over the last year, he’d had ample opportunity to witness her sweetness as he helped her brother bring his struggling estate back into good repair and productivity.

The memory of her soft brown eyes crinkled in delight swam in his mind.

It was not his most recent memory of her, but it was his favorite.

Grace, with an abundance of copper curls piled on her head, had been watching the new spring lambs romp through the field, smiling and laughing at their antics.

Her joy in little things was intoxicating.

He’d witnessed that expression many times over the last year: while inspecting a wildflower, making daisy chains with her nieces, even with something as simple as watching the wind blow colorful autumn leaves from the trees. She seemed to find happiness in everything.

He wished he could be so content with life.

Alan leaned forward over his desk and glanced over the dates Emma had outlined. They would arrive in a fortnight and stay just as long. The intention was to be in London early enough to commission a few gowns before the whirl of activities began.

His heart, which had been soothed with warm thoughts, now resumed its uneven pace. Miss Lenning would be taking a season. But why? She’d refused her brother when he’d offered to take her to London last spring. What had changed?

It must be Emma’s doing. His sister could be extremely convincing.

Most the time he was halfway to doing what she wished when he realized she’d changed his mind.

Had Grace fallen prey to the same wheedling?

Didn’t she know if she went to London, she’d be forced to socialize almost every waking hour?

When would she find the alone time he knew she relished?

She would have any number of gentlemen knocking at her door wishing to take a stroll or a ride with her through Hyde Park.

Gentlemen!

Alan’s face twisted into a scowl. There would be ample of the scroungy lot.

What man wouldn’t notice her, with those fiery curls that framed a perfectly symmetrical face?

And while freckles were not the rage at present, the few that dotted her nose and cheeks were wildly distracting.

When his thoughts spun to the way her dress hugged her curves, he decided it was time to find something else to occupy his time.

He slapped his forehead with a hand and slowly dragged it down his face. He was a cad for ogling her in his mind.

Rising, he went in search of the housekeeper.

The poor woman would probably be running from morning to evening in preparation for his guests.

Not that there would be a lot to prepare, as the house was kept in pristine condition, but they so rarely had visitors that Mrs. Gibbons would be delighted to have new people to impress.

His steps echoed in the hall that opened out into the center court for which Engalworth had been named.

Knowing Mrs. Gibbons would probably be in the kitchens at this hour, he chose to use the servants’ staircase.

His peers would be disgusted at a lord deigning to find the servants instead of calling them to his location, but years of undercover work in France during the continental war had given him a greater appreciation for his staff.

Their work was back-breaking enough without him demanding they run up and down the stairs several times a day.

Besides, he needed to move. Too much sitting allowed his mind to wander into places it should not be, not to mention the stiffness that arose from old war wounds.

The scent of fresh baked bread and fried ham wafted up the stairs, reminding him he’d yet to break his fast. He reached into his pocket and extracted his watch. Was it really half-past eleven?

He really needed to do better at remembering to eat. Usually by now Mrs. Gibbons would have run him to ground with a tray. Odd. Maybe she’d finally taken his advice and let him suffer for his negligence.

Warmth permeated the kitchen, a blessed relief from the chill in the rest of the house. A scullery maid washed dishes and a kitchen maid kneaded dough. Mrs. White, the cook, was removing a bubbling dish from the oven. The crusty top looked like pie, but the smell was savory, not sweet.

The kitchen staff stopped when he entered, an unnerving silence falling over the room.

He glanced around. “Mrs. Gibbons?”

His question was answered by the woman in question as she stepped from the linen room just off the main area, a pencil and ledger in hand. “Yes, my lord.”

Looking around at the others who still stood at attention, he said, “Carry on.” Like a rush of wind, the noise picked up and everyone moved about their work.

He motioned with his head, and she followed him up to a table in the corner.

“Is something amiss?” she asked as they sat across from one another.

Alan examined the older woman’s face. Laugh lines branched out around her rusty brown eyes, attesting to years of cheerful living.

“No, everything is well. I just received a letter from my sister.”

A blossoming smile replaced the worry on her face. “How is Lady Hamdon?”

“Doing well. She has accepted my invitation to visit for Christmastide.”

Mrs. Gibbons clapped her hands together and held them to her chest. “Oh, that is wonderful. When can we expect them?”

“Monday next. But that is not all. She is bringing guests.”

Her eyes widened. Alan smiled. He loved bringing joy to this dear woman.

“Since I am not at all knowledgeable in this area, I shall leave the planning to you.”

He didn’t think her smile could grow any bigger, but it did. “Oh, thank you! To have dear Miss Emma back is treat enough, but this? How many can I expect?”

“There will be four besides Lord and Lady Hamdon and their son. You can also expect at least two additional maids and two valets, along with Master George’s nurse.”

Mrs. Gibbons pulled a small writing pad out of her pocket and began scribbling. “And how long?”

He gave the pertinent details, imagining her mind spinning with ideas as his housekeeper jotted them down.

It was a relief. He didn’t know the first thing about hosting guests.

In the two years since he’d taken control over Engalworth he’d not even thought to invite anyone, spending a good deal of his time elsewhere.

The only visitors they’d had were his sister and her husband.

A clack sounded on the table as Mrs. Gibbons set down her pencil. “Are there any dishes you wish to have in particular?”

“As long as we have minced meat and pudding somewhere on the menu, especially buttered shortbread pudding, I will be a happy man. Truly, Mrs. Gibbons, I want you to think of this as your project. I completely trust your abilities.”

She smiled. “This season will be festive indeed. I will make certain of it.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder as he rose. “I have no doubt.”

Nervous energy drove him out of doors into the chill of December. The garden was not much to look at, the plants brown and wilted, but he continued his way along the path until he found the stone bench. Instead of sitting, he propped a foot on it and stared out at the bare grove in the distance.

Grace was coming to Engalworth. He could not believe his luck…

and misfortune. He’d have two glorious weeks until his sister dragged the poor woman off to the despicable men of the Ton.

Oh, he knew they weren’t all bad, but none were good enough for Grace’s beauty and amiable disposition. In truth, neither was he.

She deserved someone more suited to her sweet nature. A man who hadn’t defied his father and ran off to war out of spite. One who could sleep at night without waking in a cold sweat.

A hare darted across the meadow that separated the garden from the grove. In a trice, Alan had his knife removed from his boot and ready to throw. Then he shook his head. It was just a rabbit. There was no threat.

Two years. It had been over two years since he’d returned from war and still he jumped at every unexpected movement.

Re-sheathing the knife, he dropped his foot to the ground. Just another reason he was not the right match for Grace. If only he could convince his heart of what his head already knew.