Chapter 3
Alan paced on the landing by the front door.
Emma had arrived yesterday and informed him that the Lennings were expected before dinner today.
It was half past five. While he never scheduled his breakfasts, dinners were promptly at six.
Even more concerning was the sprinkling of snow that had accumulated on the ground.
An oddity for December, but they’d hardly had a summer this year, so he should have expected it.
Why were they so late? Had someone grown ill? What if they’d had an accident?
A throat cleared. He glanced up to see the amused brown eyes of his butler.
“I am sure they will be here soon, my lord. I can show them in if you’d rather wait with Lord and Lady Hamdon in the drawing room.”
Alan smoothed his hands over his dinner jacket, straightening his posture as he did so. “Very good, Gibbons.”
The older gentleman’s smirk was all too knowing. It would not do to have the entire house gossiping about how the master had paced at the front door like a besotted fool. Which, of course, he was. But no one need know that, especially not the woman for whom he anxiously awaited.
He had begun descending the five steps that led to the inner court when a horse whinnied in the drive. He spun on the third step from the top only to see Gibbons’s face stretch into a wide grin.
A knock sounded at the door. Gibbons grasped the large handle and pulled, but the door barely budged.
His face turned red as he leaned back to use his weight against the heavy wood, and it finally swung open.
The sight made Alan’s heart sink. His beloved butler was aging.
He really needed to give the man a pension and let him rest, but how would he get along without Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons? They’d been like family to him.
Then Grace stepped through the door, a blue cloak covering her head and shoulders, and all thoughts of servants and aging ceased. Her glove covered hands rose and slowly removed the hood, displaying a halo of red curls.
His heart leapt into a gallop.
Vaguely, he noticed the others file in behind her, but he was mesmerized by the way she methodically untied her cloak. Had she somehow grown prettier since he’d last seen her in October?
A firm hand landed on his shoulder, and he jolted. The surprise was so complete that he nearly reached for the knife in his boot until he caught sight of his brother-in-law’s laughing gaze. Hamdon appeared far too smug.
“Are you going to greet your guests, or merely stand here like a dolt?”
Alan straightened, shrugged off Hamdon’s hand, and mounted the steps.
On the landing, he gave Mrs. Lenning the deference she deserved and greeted her first, even though his mind was screaming to go straight to Grace.
He welcomed each one of them individually, but when he came to Grace, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Taking hold of her hand, he bowed over it but could only say, “Miss Lenning.”
“Lord Gladsby,” she said. “I must thank you for your generous invitation to include us in your holiday celebrations, as I am sure it was your sister’s idea.”
It had been Emma’s suggestion, or rather, command, but that did not mean it was unwelcome. He cleared his throat. “It is my pleasure to have you all join us.”
In his periphery, Mr. Lenning and Hamdon, his customary cane in hand, gave each other a pat on the back.
While Grace’s presence was his focus, it was her brother who probably held more interest for his sister and her husband.
Mr. Lenning and Lord Hamdon had been boyhood friends since their days at Eton.
They’d not want to pass up the chance to be together for a holiday.
“Miss Lenning.” His sister cut in front of him, and he realized he was staring at Grace again. He really needed to pull himself together.
“We are so happy to have you with us.” Emma gave Grace a small hug. “Come, let us get you warmed by the fire.”
And just like that, Emma whisked her away, asking questions as the rest of the group followed them down the stairs and into the drawing room.
They really should have let the housekeeper show their guests to their rooms where they could dress for dinner, but he supposed they could forgo the formal practice this once.
He ran a hand through his curls and straightened his dinner jacket.
Thatcher, his footman, carried the load of cloaks and greatcoats down to the ground level, and Gibbons followed with the gloves and hats.
When everyone had disappeared from the court, Alan let out the sigh he’d been holding. He’d acted like a complete idiot.
What had happened to the cool, collected man he’d learned to portray? Despite years of military discipline, he’d fumbled over his words like an infatuated schoolboy. The next few weeks would be miserable indeed if he could not get a hold of himself. Grace was his friend, nothing more.
Dinner was a fabulous mixture of sweet and savory dishes. Grace resisted the urge to scrape up the last vestiges of the cream sauce that had covered the venison and turnips. Prudence, however, did not even bother restraining herself. A tiny squeak from Pru’s fork pierced the quiet conversation.
To Grace’s relief, Lord Gladsby held up a finger, signaling the footmen to remove the dinner plates instead of eyeing her sister with disapproval.
A small dessert dish of bread and cream was set before her. Grace wiggled her toes in her shoes. Buttered shortbread pudding was her favorite. Did Lord Gladsby remember? No. That was ridiculous. It was not as if he’d planned his meals around her likes and dislikes.
“Oh look, Alan,” Lady Hamdon said, “your favorite.”
Lord Gladsby raised his spoon in Grace’s direction. “And Miss Lenning’s as well.”
Grace stilled, her gaze focused on Lord Gladsby as he dipped his spoon for another bite.
He’d not forgotten their conversation. They’d been peering in the windows of the bakery in Venworth and he’d asked after her favorite sweetmeat.
After she replied, the conversation had naturally turned to a discussion of many favorites: puddings, colors, books.
Had it really been that important to him to remember?
She winced as a foot hit her shin. Across the table, Prudence tipped her head in Lord Gladsby’s direction. She’d not acknowledged his compliment. The awkward silence about them jarred her into action.
“Yes. And your cook has done an excellent job with it. Please pass on my compliments.”
“I will,” Lady Hamdon said.
Conversation carried on around Grace, but the knowledge that Lord Gladsby had thought of her comfort pulled her thoughts away.
Then again, maybe she was making far too much of his gesture.
He was simply being a good host. Perhaps tomorrow he’d serve Bradley’s favorite, or Lady Hamdon’s. It really was nothing.
Lady Hamdon rose and the other ladies took their cue, leaving the gentlemen and making themselves comfortable in the drawing room.
Candlelight mixed with the fire in the hearth, giving the room a soft glow that soothed Grace and reminded her of how tiring travel could be.
Her lower back had yet to recover from the bumping and jarring of the carriage, so she allowed herself a moment to relax into the cushioned back of her chair.
Diana and Prudence kept up the majority of the conversation with Lady Hamdon, allowing her to let her mind wander until the gentlemen entered.
“I heartily agree,” Anthony said to her brother, pulling Grace from her stupor. “I do love a game of Toilette. It’s nearly as good as Buffy Gruffy.”
“Those are both delightful,” Lady Hamdon interjected. “I will schedule an evening for each.”
Several more games were discussed with great vigor. This one was too vulgar for their taste, that one didn’t hold one’s interest. Eventually, they created a list that they all could agree on.
“You have been unforgivably quiet, Grace,” Prudence chided. “Don’t you want your say in what parlor games are played?”
“Oh, I’m sure whatever Lady Hamdon has planned for us will be enjoyable.”
Her Ladyship tipped her head, her fingers working the tips of her gloves. Odd. None of the rest had replaced their gloves after dinner, but perhaps the lady was more comfortable formally dressed.
“Actually, Miss Lenning, I would like to know what your family does during the Christmas season. Alan and I wish to make your stay here as full of comfort and cheer as possible, so we thought to incorporate some of your traditions with our own.”
Grace shifted in her seat, sneaking a glance at Lord Gladsby—Alan, as his sister had called him. The name suited him. She let it roll around in her mind a moment, then remembered she was supposed to be giving suggestions for Christmastide activities.
“Our traditions are much the same as other families. We play games, eat Christmas pudding, burn a yule log and such. We usually start celebrating a few weeks before Christmas by gathering greenery to decorate the house. If it is a good year, we have a pomander to add fragrance.”
Lord Gladsby took a chair near hers, chasing away her fatigue with his nearness. “Our mother used to do the same. One of my earliest Christmas memories is asking my mother if we might eat the oranges covered in cloves.”
Prudence giggled. “Did she let you?”
“Of course not, for which I am grateful. It would have been a woody, nasty business. But they do smell delightful.”
Grace agreed. She was partial to the spicy scent mixed with citrus. Perhaps that was why she adored wassail so much. The mixture of fruit and spices delighted her tongue and reminded her of Christmases past.
Lord Gladsby leaned forward and looked at his mantel. “I suppose my house is a bit bare. I’d not thought about decor for the season. Perhaps tomorrow we might make a trek out to the grove and see about gathering some boughs to make things a bit more merry.”
“Don’t forget the mistletoe.” Prudence grinned, giving a tiny bounce in her seat.
“Yes,” Bradley said, eyeing his wife, “we cannot forget that holiday essential.”
Anthony chuckled as he absentmindedly fiddled with the golden ball on the top of his cane. “We would never dream of it.”
Grace did not miss the conspiratorial looks that passed between both married couples.
What it must be like to have someone you wished to meet under the mistletoe and who wished to find you there as well?
Her gaze wandered to Lord Gladsby’s profile.
The low glow of the fire highlighted the creases below his cheekbones, prominently pronouncing the lines of his straight jaw and high cheeks.
His hair appeared golden in this light, each strand on top pomaded into a perfect curl.
He turned, and she blushed at being caught unabashedly staring at him. His brow lowered. “Forgive them, Miss Lenning. I believe their excitement at having a chance to kiss in public without censure has made you uncomfortable.”
She smiled. Hardly. She’d been imagining what it might be like to kiss him, but that was not something a gently bred woman would confess, unless, of course, it was Prudence. She’d have blurted out her feelings long ago.
Grace, however, knew her place. “I am not uncomfortable. I am merely tired. It has been a long day, and it is hard for me to achieve the same level of enthusiasm when I am fatigued.”
“Forgive me.” Lady Hamdon rose from her seat. “I had quite forgotten your travels.”
The rest of the party followed suit.
“There is nothing to forgive,” Diana said. “It was not that far of a journey, but the hour is getting late. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner.”
Grace bit her lip. She should not have mentioned her fatigue.
She’d not meant to imply a misstep on Lady Hamdon’s part or to imply that she wished to retire.
In truth, she’d rather spend a few more moments in Lord Gladsby’s company, but perhaps it was for the best. She really did think better on a good night’s sleep and there would be two whole weeks to drink in the sight of him.
“Tomorrow, then.” Lord Gladsby bowed over her hand. When he rose, there was a twinkle in his eye. “I look forward to hunting holly with you.”
Heat emanated from her head all the way to her toes, but she laid the blame on the roaring fire. He must have meant the whole of their party. He’d not meant just her, even if her bubbling heart and fanciful mind had jumped to that conclusion. He was a gentleman, after all.
But was he the sort that tossed out flippant compliments?
She did not think so, at least from what she knew of him. In fact, she steadfastly hoped not, for she desperately wished his words to have the exact meaning he’d implied.