Snowy Night With a Stranger Read online

  Ned thanked his host and went willingly in the butler’s wake, with his glass and decanter. Northumbrian hospitality was legendary, and with good reason. No one ever turned away a benighted winter traveler in these hills, but Roger Selby’s welcome was more than ordinarily warm, and seemed to transcend mere obligation.

  But of course they were neighbors, Ned reflected as he entered a large and well-appointed bedchamber. That would certainly explain the generosity of the welcome.

  “This is Davis, Lord Allenton, he will be pleased to act as your valet during your stay,” the butler announced, waving a hand in the direction of the manservant who was unpacking Ned’s portmanteau. Jacobs bowed and departed.

  He must remember to give the coachman some substantial concrete sign of his appreciation for hauling the portmanteau through the blizzard, Ned thought as he examined the contents of his bag. Most men would have abandoned it with the chaise in such circumstances, and he would have been obliged to dine in a borrowed dressing gown.

  “Your bath is prepared, sir,” the manservant said. “I’ll take this blue coat down to the kitchen and get our Sally to press it. Sadly creased it is, an’ I daresay ye’ll be wanting to wear it at dinner.”

  “Is there not one a little less creased?” Ned inquired mildly, casting off his damp coat with a sigh of relief. “I’m sure there’s no need to put anyone to the trouble of pressing something at such short notice.”

  “No, m’lord, there’s no other less creased, and ‘tis no trouble for our Sally,” Davis stated a little huffily. “Lord Selby likes things to be right. He’s most particular, m’ lord.”

  “Well, I’m sure you know best. I certainly wouldn’t wish to insult my host,” Ned said cheerfully, unfastening his britches. “I’d be grateful if you could do something about my greatcoat while you’re about it. It’s sodden, quite possibly beyond repair, but I’ll need it again until I can replace it. It’s in the hall, I believe.”

  “Mr. Jacobs has seen to it, sir,” Davis said. He began to take shirts and cravats from the portmanteau, smoothing the fine white linen with a reverential hand before laying them carefully in a drawer in the armoire. “Lovely cloth, sir. If I may say so.”

  “You may. Indian tailors do fine work with the most delicate cotton.”

  “These coats, sir, were never made in India,” Davis exclaimed, lifting a coat of green superfine to the light. “This’ll be one of them gentlemen tailors in London, it will.”

  “True enough.” Ned stepped naked to the copper hip bath before the fire. “Schultz or Weston, I favor both.” He stepped into the water and slid down with a sigh of pleasure, resting his head against the edge. “Now this was worth waiting for. Pass me my sherry glass, will you?”

  Davis brought over the recharged glass. “I’ll just take the coat to Sally, sir. Will you be needing me in the next fifteen minutes?”

  Ned closed his eyes. “No…no, Davis. Take your time.” He lay back in the soothing warmth, feeling the tensions of the day’s travel melt from him. He was due to arrive at the Hartleys’ in the morning, but they would not wonder why he failed to turn up. The blizzard would be raging from the summit of The Cheviot to Alnwick, swallowing everything in between. They might worry that he hadn’t found shelter, but he could do little to alleviate that concern at present. No messenger could get through, as Roger Selby had said. It rather looked as if he would be spending Christmas Day, at least, at Selby Hall.

  If truth be told, he was not sorry to postpone his arrival at Hartley House. It seemed such a long time ago that he had proposed to Sarah Hartley. He had been nineteen, Sarah seventeen. And they had known each other from earliest childhood. The border towns and villages of Northumberland provided a rarefied atmosphere, where the local county families, few and far between as they were, were entirely dependent upon each other for a social life. There were no big town centers between Newcastle and Edinburgh. It was wild, rough country that fostered both interdependence among its own and a fierce independence from outsiders.

  Sarah had been a sweet young woman. He tried to conjure up her picture behind his closed eyelids. Very fair, periwinkle blue eyes, a little plump, but prettily so. Of course that could have changed as womanhood formed her. She had wept when he’d left, and she’d waited for him, these full ten years. Or so Rob had written in his infrequent letters. Sarah was still a spinster, already on the shelf. Everyone said she was pining for her first love. And when he’d been summoned home, Ned had seen no alternative but to honor his youthful pledge. This Christmas journey to Hartley House was to renew that pledge in person before he faced the unenviable task of putting right the damage that neglect had done to his own family home and estates.

  Well, he had money aplenty for such a task, and it would have its satisfactions. He had his own ideas about farming, about horse breeding, about estate management, and the prospect of putting them into practice was undeniably exciting. And he would need a wife at his side, a woman who knew the land, its people and the eccentricities of both as well as he did. Sarah was a competent woman. She would make him a good wife. So why could he not summon up some genuine enthusiasm at the prospect? All he felt at present was a gloomy acceptance of a bounden duty.

  The sound of the door opening jerked him back to the cooling bathwater and the unfamiliar bedchamber. “Our Sally’s done a fair job on the coat, sir,” Davis announced, laying it carefully on the bed. “Mr. Jacobs said as how dinner will be served in half an hour.”

  “Then I must not keep my host waiting.” Ned stood up as he spoke, water sloshing around him. He took the warm towel off the hanger close to the fire and wrapped it around himself as he stepped out. He ran a hand over his chin with a grimace. “Do you think you could shave me?”

  “Oh, aye, sir,” Davis said, pouring water from the ewer on the washstand into the basin. “I’m a dab hand at it, sir. Used to shave my pa when he had the shakes on him.” He took the long, straight-edged razor and stropped it vigorously.

  Ned sat down on the stool before the washstand and gave himself into the hands of his borrowed valet. Davis worked quickly and efficiently, and with some pride in his handiwork. “There, sir, how’s that. Good and close, I’d say.”

  “Indeed, Davis.” Ned ran his hand over his smooth chin. “Very good. Thank you.”

  Fifteen minutes later he was ready to join his host. He felt a new man, the miseries of the day a thing of the past. His newly pressed coat fitted perfectly, his linen was as white as the virgin snow beyond his window, his boots had a lovely deep shine to them, and his doeskin pantaloons were as soft as butter. He did not consider himself a vain man, but Viscount Allenton liked to make a good impression, and couldn’t help a satisfied nod at his image in the pier glass before he headed for the door.

  He could hear the soft notes of a piano and the sound of voices coming from a salon to the right of the hall as he descended the stairs. There seemed like quite a few voices, mostly male, interspersed with an occasional female tone. He had invited himself to quite a house party, it would seem. He crossed the hall to the double doors, where a footman stood waiting to announce him.

  Chapter Two

  There were close to twenty people in the salon. The room was decorated with swags of greenery interspersed with the bright blood red of holly berries. Bunches of mistletoe hung from the chandeliers and Ned realized that he was standing beneath a particularly large bunch of waxy cream berries only when a woman separated from the group gathered before the fire and came over with a little squeal of glee.

  “Welcome, stranger. I demand a Christmas kiss.” She kissed him full on the lips before he had time to react, and the room burst into loud applause. The woman stood back and regarded him with more of a smirk than a smile. Her eyes were a little glassy, her cheeks very pink.

  She was more than a little tipsy, Ned decided, but he entered into the spirit of whatever game they were playing and swept her an elaborate bow. “Your most obedient servant, ma’am.”

  “Step
in, Allenton, before every lady in the room salutes you beneath that mistletoe…unless, of course, you’ve a mind to invite them.” Roger Selby, beaming jovially, crossed the Aubusson carpet toward him, hand outstretched.

  “It would certainly be a pleasure,” Ned said, nevertheless moving quickly away from the doorway to meet his host.

  “Ah, yes indeed, man, we’ve a bevy of beauties here and no mistake,” Selby announced, linking an arm through Ned’s. “Come and let me present you. Everyone’s uncommon delighted at the prospect of a fresh face…. Here he is, ladies and gentleman. Our new neighbor, Viscount Allenton, fresh from India.”

  Ned bowed as each introduction was made. None of the names was familiar, which surprised him. He would have expected Selby’s Christmas house party to have been made up of the local landowners, whose family names at least he would have recognized. But it dawned on him rapidly that his host’s guests were not of the usual kind. There was a hint of vulgarity to the five women. It was hard to put his finger on it at first, but as a glass of claret was pressed into his hand and the group gathered around him, he began to notice the details. Voices were too loud, gowns too frilled and fussy for true elegance, and the plethora of gemstones was almost blinding. The men, for the most part, were older than the women, and there was a rough edge there too, despite the formality of their evening dress. A sharpness, a hardness, that underpinned the apparent camaraderie.

  Throughout this covert assessment, Ned made himself agreeable, joining in the laughter, smiling easily at the rather frequent ribaldry, which made no concession to the women present, and answering pointed questions about his intentions now that he had returned to claim his inheritance with a careful courtesy that imparted as little information as possible. But he judged that his fellow guests were all a little too full of good spirits to be fully aware of his lack of candor.

  “Anyone seen Georgiana?” a new voice demanded from the door, and the group seemed to swing as one toward a man close to Ned’s age who had just entered the drawing room. He was a big man with powerful shoulders and a body that looked as if it would be at home in a boxing ring. His florid face was handsome in a bucolic way, his pale eyes were clear and focused, unlike those of the rest of the company, but there was something calculating that shifted across the light surface as he noticed the newcomer.

  “Ah, you must be the benighted viscount,” he declared. “Selby was telling us all about you.” He extended his hand in greeting. “Godfrey Belton, at your service, Lord Allenton.”

  “Delighted,” Ned said, shaking the hand firmly, wondering what it was about this man that instantly set his hackles rising. He did not ordinarily develop instant dislikes to strangers.

  “I trust you’ll enjoy our revels,” Belton said, taking a snuff box from his pocket and flicking it open with his thumbnail. “May I offer you a pinch…uncommon fine mix, I think you’ll find.”

  Ned shook his head. “Thank you, but I don’t take it.”

  “I thought all you Indian folk indulged…supposed to combat that vile climate,” Belton declared, taking a large pinch for himself.

  “I didn’t find the climate vile,” Ned said pleasantly. “But it doesn’t agree with everyone, certainly.”

  Godfrey Belton regarded him in questioning silence for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh that somehow lacked true amusement and repeated his original question to the room at large. “Anyone seen Georgiana? I’ve searched high and low.”

  “Wretched girl, always disappearing,” Roger Selby grumbled. “She was in her room half an hour past. I sent a message to say dinner was delayed. She was there then.”

  “She wasn’t when I knocked five minutes ago,” Belton said.

  “I assume you’re talking about me.” A soft voice spoke from a side door. “I was looking for a book in the library.”

  The young woman who stepped into the room was as unlike the other women in the salon as the moon was to cream cheese, Ned thought. She was slight, her slender frame straight as an arrow, and her gown of ivory silk opening over a gold slip would have caused every debutante at Almack’s to sigh with envy. Her only jewelry was a three-strand collar of flawless pearls, with matching drops in her ears. Her hair was a deliciously unruly mass of copper-colored curls that she had allowed to cluster and fall as they chose. An undisciplined coiffure that unlike her gown would never find favor at Almack’s. But, by God, it suited her.

  She had the green eyes and flawless white skin typical of a redhead. But did she have the proverbial temperament of the redhead? Ned wondered, with a hidden smile. Now that would be interesting.

  She closed the door quietly at her back and came into the salon. “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, cousin.”

  “No matter…no matter,” Roger Selby said. “Let me make you known to our unexpected guest. Lord Allenton…my ward, Lady Georgiana Carey.”

  Ned bowed; the lady sketched a curtsy. “I’m guessing you were caught in the storm, Lord Allenton,” she said in her quiet voice. “The roads are impassable.”

  “They are indeed, Lady Georgiana.”

  “Where have you been all afternoon, Georgiana?” Godfrey Belton demanded on a slightly belligerent note. “I was looking all over for you. I told you to meet me in the Long Gallery.”

  “Did you, Godfrey? I must have forgotten. Do forgive me.” She smiled a cajoling smile and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Godfrey and m’ward are betrothed,” Selby told Ned. “They’re to be married in the spring.”

  “My congratulations,” Ned said, with a half bow in the direction of the couple. He saw that Belton had placed his hand over his fiancée’s as it rested on his arm. Georgiana made a move to slide her hand out from under but Belton’s hand pressed down hard, his fingers closing over hers.

  A slight grimace twisted her mouth. “I’d like a glass of sherry, Godfrey,” she said.

  “I’m not sure you deserve it, arriving so late,” he said. “You’ll be holding up dinner.” Still holding her hand against his arm, he turned both of them to the group by the fire, but not before Ned had seen the look on the lady’s face. For an instant pure fury had blazed in those green eyes and then it had vanished, to be replaced by a resigned and apologetic smile.

  “Dinner is served, my lord,” Jacobs intoned from the doorway.

  “Good…we’re all famished,” Selby announced. “Georgiana, take Lord Allenton into dinner. As the latest arrival he’s our honored guest tonight—but don’t get used to it, Allenton.” He laughed boisterously. “You’ll be one of us tomorrow, and from tomorrow until Twelfth Night the Lord of Misrule will be running the proceedings. We elect him after dinner tonight.”

  Ned knew well the medieval history of the Christmas revels controlled by the Lord of Misrule. It supposedly had its origins in ancient Rome, a festival where all the usual hierarchies were turned on their heads, and the ordinary rules of civilized society were forgotten. In its present form the Lord of Misrule was elected by the celebrants and he held total sway for the twelve days of Christmas, requiring absolute obedience to his most whimsical instructions. It was a tradition still practiced among some families in the borderlands, but it had never been Ned’s father’s practice, and he’d never participated in the notoriously wild twelve days of revelry. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to. There were too many opportunities for unpleasant mischief when all the usual social rules no longer held sway.

  “Don’t look so alarmed, Lord Allenton.” Lady Georgiana was by his side and he noticed she was massaging one hand almost absently as she smiled at him. “We keep within the boundaries.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it, ma’am,” he said, offering his arm. “The ceremonies were not practiced in my father’s household.”

  “They can be amusing,” she said, walking with him across the baronial hall to the dining room opposite. “And as long as the Lord of Misrule is conscientious, matters don’t get out of hand.” She led him to his place at the long mahogany table.

  He
held her chair for her, then took his own seat on her right. “You sound very familiar with such revels, Lady Georgiana.”

  “Oh, I wish people would call me Georgie,” she said abruptly. “Everyone does in town.”

  He looked at her, momentarily startled. Her voice was quite different. The low diffidence had vanished, and there was a touch of impatience beneath the sharply defined syllables.

  And then she smiled at him as she shook out her napkin and said in her old voice, “I still find it difficult to get used to being called by my full name, sir. But my guardian insists upon it. And I’m sure Lord Selby knows best.” Her eyes were soft, her smile sweet, and Ned thought he must have imagined that startling change earlier.

  “But you don’t care for it,” he said.

  She seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking at him with a slight wariness in her eyes, but she had no chance to say anything further on the subject.

  “So, Allenton, what d’you expect to find when you finally get home?” Godfrey Belton, seated across the table from him, broke a piece of bread as he called out the question.

  “I’m not really sure,” Ned responded calmly. He sensed there was a point behind Belton’s question, and that it wasn’t a pleasant one. “It’s been ten years.”

  “Well, you’re in for a shock, dear fellow,” Selby boomed from the head of the table. “God knows what your brother thought he was doing…letting the place go to rack and ruin like that.” He shook his head. “Tragic waste, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, Rob Vasey was only interested in his horses, cards and dice,” Belton declared, thrusting a piece of bread into his mouth and washing it down with a deep swallow of his wine.

  Ned regarded him with faint hauteur. “Indeed?”

  “Oh, no offense, Allenton,” Godfrey said with a bluff laugh. “We’re all neighbors up here, we don’t have any secrets, can’t afford to. You know that.”