Snowy Night With a Stranger Page 5

  Georgiana came over with the saucepan. Without breaking her stride, she reached sideways as she passed the dresser and took two plates off a shelf. She set the plates on the table and swiftly divided the eggs between them. “There’s coffee in the pot, or small beer, if you prefer.”

  “Coffee at this time of day,” he said, watching her turn again to the dresser to fetch two shallow bowls. Her movements were swift and graceful, economical of effort, but utterly purposeful. She was very slight, her tiny waist accentuated by the tightly knotted girdle of her robe, her body moving fluidly beneath the silk folds as she stretched across the table, reaching for an earthenware jug from which aromatic steam curled. Her copper curls were roughly tied back with a green silk ribbon that matched her dressing gown. Again he had that sense of déjà vu, and he shook his head impatiently at the memory he couldn’t catch.

  She filled the two bowls with coffee. “Cream?”

  “Please.”

  She added cream to the bowls and then sat down, cradling her bowl of coffee between her hands, savoring the aroma. “One thing I’ll say for Selby, he keeps a fine dairy herd.”

  “Only one thing?” he queried with a raised eyebrow as he dug his fork into the mound of creamy eggs on his plate.

  “Just a manner of speaking,” she responded vaguely, taking up her own fork.

  “I see.”

  They ate in silence for a while and then she said suddenly, “What took you to India? It seems a rather extreme choice of destination.”

  “As it happens it wasn’t my choice,” he replied, sipping his coffee before cutting another slice of bread. “My father had an acquaintance who owned a brokerage in London. He had contacts in India and it was decided that I should go and make my fortune…or die of some foreign malaise in the attempt,” he added with a sardonic smile.

  “Well, you didn’t die,” she stated. “So did you make your fortune?”

  He nodded. “And enjoyed every moment of doing so. And now it seems I must put my fortune to the service of the Vasey estates.”

  Georgiana leaned her elbows on the table, again cradling her coffee bowl between her hands, regarding him closely across the table. “Why wasn’t it your choice?”

  “Ah…I thought you might wonder that.” He buttered his fresh slice of bread. “Delicious eggs, by the way.”

  She nodded impatiently. “Won’t you answer me?”

  He shrugged. “It’s no secret…an old story. And a common enough one.”

  She looked at him in questioning silence and he said bluntly, “I killed a man.”

  “By accident?” She didn’t appear to be shocked, or even particularly surprised.

  “Not exactly. In a duel. I caught him cheating at cards and called him on it. He called me a liar and the next thing I knew his seconds were waiting upon me.”

  He refilled his coffee cup. “We met at dawn, the usual drama…I intended to delope. The whole business struck me then, and even more so now, as utterly ridiculous. But one of my seconds told me that he had learned that my opponent had every intention of firing to kill. The only way he could preserve his honor, or some such rubbish. So I did what I had to do. Unfortunately for him I’m rather a good shot.”

  “So you had to leave the country?”

  “In a certain amount of haste,” Ned agreed. “Dueling is frowned upon—killing a man on the field even more so,” he added dryly. “So I went to India, and until six months ago had absolutely no intention of ever returning.”

  “And now duty calls.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment, then said, “Your fiancé, Godfrey Belton. Is he from around here? I don’t recognize the name.”

  Her face changed. Her mouth hardened, and her green eyes took on a glacial glint. “He’s a friend of my guardian’s,” she said. “I don’t know where they met.” She rose from the table and began to gather their empty plates.

  “Where will you live after your marriage?” Ned pressed. “He must come from somewhere.”

  “Of course he does,” she snapped, moving swiftly away from him toward the kitchen sink. “I don’t know where. But I believe he’s acquired some land and is building a house up around Great Ryle.”

  The gift from Roger Selby, Ned remembered. Perhaps it was a wedding present from Selby to the newlyweds. Georgiana would get a beautiful house, and her husband some prime land. It was an explanation that would fit perfectly, but somehow Ned didn’t think it fitted this particular scenario. It was too simple and pleasant for the distinctly sinister undercurrents in this household.

  He watched Georgiana as she piled the dishes on a wooden draining board. Every muscle in her back seemed to have tightened, and once again he was reminded of a cat tensed and ready to strike. “So that house will be your marital home?”

  She turned back to him, and brushed an errant curl from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I imagine so.”

  “But you have no wish for it,” he declared.

  She looked at him and he saw frustration and fury in her eyes, but she said only, “This is a pointless conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Of course.” He rose politely as she swept from the kitchen, and then made his own way upstairs again on the same errand. He seemed to have landed in a deeply mired mystery. But perhaps it wasn’t so mysterious after all. Georgiana was cut off from all she knew up here in the Northumbrian wilds. She had no friends around her that he could see. And her guardian was empowered to make all and any decisions concerning her. So was she being coerced into this marriage? And if so, why?

  Davis was laying out his clothes when Ned entered his bedchamber. “I thought the blue coat, sir, with buckskins,” he said, smoothing the garments that he had laid with some reverence on the bed. “And I’ve polished your top boots, sir. How many neckcloths should I fetch for you?”

  “One will be sufficient, thank you,” Ned said, rather surprised at the question. “Why would I need more than one?”

  “Well, I understand, sir, that gentlemen of fashion often use half a dozen before they achieve the knot to their satisfaction,” the valet said. “An uncle of mine was in service to a gentleman in the city. He knows about such things.”

  “Ah, well, perhaps that’s true for some men,” Ned said cheerfully. “I for one find it perfectly simple to tie my neckcloth to my satisfaction in one attempt.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Davis looked disappointed and Ned felt a little guilty that he wasn’t somehow living up to his valet’s expectations.

  “You may shave me again,” he offered, shrugging out of his dressing gown. “You did a superb job yesterday.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Davis picked up the dressing gown and hung it in the armoire.

  “Oh, and would you find my greatcoat—I’ve a mind to visit the stables to see how my horses are doing,” Ned said. “Do you happen to know where my coachman and postillions are housed?”

  “Above the stable block, sir, with the other stablemen,” Davis told him, pouring hot water into the basin on the washstand. “Quite snug they are up there, and they’ve taken their bread and meat in the servants’ hall with the rest of us.”

  “Good.” Ned nodded. Whatever mysteries there were in this house, he couldn’t fault his host’s hospitality in any way. It seemed rather ungrateful to dig deeper into Selby’s private affairs. Nevertheless, where those affairs concerned Georgiana Carey he had every intention of doing exactly that.

  Half an hour later, Davis helped Ned into his greatcoat and passed him gloves and hat. “It’s coming down pretty badly out there, m’lord,” he said. “Not fit for man or beast.”

  “I’m only going to the stables, Davis,” Ned reminded him. “Hasn’t anyone cleared a path?”

  “All the time, sir. But it gets covered again as soon as ‘tis cleared.”

  “I’ll take my chance.”

  Jacobs was in the hall when Ned came down the stairs. “You’re never going out there, sir?”

&
nbsp; “Just to the stables,” Ned said. “Which is the quickest way?”

  “I’ll show you,” a soft voice chimed in, and Georgiana came out of the salon. “Could you bring my overboots and cloak, Jacobs?”

  “They’re barely dry from yesterday, my lady,” the butler declared.

  “But they are dry,” Georgiana said with a smile. “I can’t stay inside all day, Jacobs, and the stables aren’t far from the house.”

  Jacobs shook his head, but he went off, muttering to himself, and reappeared with a pair of sturdy overboots and a heavy hooded cloak. “Can’t think why you can’t stay inside in the warm like other godfearing folks,” he stated, setting the boots on the floor by the bench beside the front door.

  Georgiana laughed as she sat down and pulled on her boots. “You’re sweet to fret, Jacobs, but believe me it’s not necessary. A little snow won’t kill me.”

  The butler went down on one knee to lace up the boots. “A gust of wind’ll blow you away,” he declared.

  “Oh, Lord Allenton will hold on to me,” she said breezily, huddling into the cloak that Jacobs held for her. “You won’t let me get blown away, will you, my lord?”

  Ned murmured something, acutely aware of the inappropriateness of this exchange in front of the butler, who, nevertheless, seemed not in the least shocked or surprised by it. Indeed, Jacobs was treating his master’s ward as if he’d known her since she was knee high.

  “Which is the quickest way?” he asked in the most neutral tone he could find.

  “Through the kitchen. Follow me.” She set off into the back regions of the house, through the kitchen, which was even busier than earlier, through a series of sculleries and pantries, and out into the kitchen yard.

  The snow was so thick Ned felt almost as if he had to push it aside like a curtain as he plodded forward, keeping his head down. Georgiana, cloaked and hooded, was swift and sure-footed, leading the way along a narrow path through the banked snow on either side. The path was under only about four inches of snow, evidence of a recent clearing, but Ned still found it slow going. After a minute he called, “Slow down, Georgie. I can barely see my way.”

  “We’ve only about twenty yards to go,” she called back, her voice muffled by the snow. She opened a gate and he followed her through, and suddenly up ahead loomed the shapes of buildings, light glowing in the upper stories. Ned heaved a sigh of relief. He was getting soft, he thought. Those years in sunny India had left him ill-prepared for his homeland in winter.

  Georgiana wrestled with the bolt on the stable door, put her shoulder to it, and pushed with astonishing strength, Ned thought, for such a slight physique. But he had already come to the conclusion that Georgiana Carey was by no means the sum of the parts she showed to the world.

  It was warm in the stables, braziers burning at either end. The horses were wrapped in blankets, their stalls sweet with fresh hay, and there were four stable hands in attendance. Ned found his own coachman and postillions playing cards in the tack room with a group of men, a jug of ale circulating.

  “All well?” he asked.

  “Aye, sir.” The coachman jumped to his feet. “‘Osses are doin’ right good, m’lord. No ill effects from yesterday as I can see. They’ve ‘ad a good bran mash and a rubdown. Don’t know about the carriage though.”

  “That’s of no matter,” Ned said, drawing the man aside from his fellows with a hand on his elbow. “But I have to thank you for bringing my portmanteau along. It must have been hard work through the snow.” Discreetly he slipped two golden guineas into the coachman’s hand, which closed instantly over the coins.

  “Thankee, m’lord.” The man dropped his prize into the capacious pocket of his coat. “We’ll be ‘ere for a bit, then?”

  “Until the snow’s stopped and the roads are cleared,” Ned agreed. “A few more days, I would think. I’m sorry you won’t be spending Christmas with your family.”

  “Oh, that’s no matter, sir,” the man said easily. “We’re all happy enough here. Not goin’ short of anything.”

  Ned chuckled. “Yes, I can see that. Well, enjoy yourselves. We’ll worry about the carriage when there’s a point to it.”

  “Aye, sir.” The coachman returned to his game and Ned left the tack room, wondering where Georgiana was.

  He found her in a stall talking to a dappled gray mare. “What a pretty lady,” he said, leaning his folded arms on the top of the half door. “Is she yours?”

  “Yes. Her name’s Athena.” Georgiana leaned her head into the mare’s neck as she looked up at Ned.

  “Very warlike,” he observed.

  “She’s a spirited lady,” Georgiana replied with a smile, offering the mare a piece of apple. “All heart.”

  The mare nuzzled the apple from her palm and whickered softly. “Have you finished here?” Georgiana asked.

  “Yes, but I’m happy to wait for you if you have something else to do.”

  “No,” she returned. “No, nothing else. There is nothing else to do in this wretched weather.” She stroked the mare’s neck and blew softly into her nostrils in a farewell kiss before leaving the stall, bolting the door behind her.

  “We should go back anyway. It’s nearly time for breakfast.” She moved toward the main door to the stable yard.

  “Is it an obligatory meal?” Ned asked, following her.

  “In a word…yes.” She laid her hand on the latch.

  Ned grimaced at her tone. He moved toward the door and then something caught his peripheral vision. The line of stalls stretched away down the block, and in one of the farthest ones he glimpsed a pony’s head over the half door. The animal gazed at him with incurious long-lashed eyes. Ned gazed back, a frown in his eyes. Then he turned to follow Georgiana back into the snow.

  He caught up with her as they left the stable yard. “How old are you, Georgie?”

  She glanced sideways at him, a mischievous glint in her green eyes. Snow clustered thickly on her lashes and on the fringe of copper curls that had escaped the protection of her hood. “That’s an impolite question to ask of a lady, my lord.”

  “Fustian,” he scoffed. “Answer me.”

  “I’m twenty, if you must know. Although I don’t know why you must.” She plowed onward through the deepening snow on the narrow path.

  “And I’m guessing that your marriage to Belton will take place before you attain your majority,” he said, speaking over her shoulder because the path was not wide enough for two abreast.

  Her answer was merely a shrug, but once again he felt her coiled tension. He said no more.

  -o-O-o-

  Ned presented himself in the breakfast room as the clock struck eleven and was mildly surprised to find all the guests from the previous evening already assembled, filling plates from the covered dishes on the sideboard and accepting glasses of champagne from Jacobs and his minions, who stood in attendance.

  They had good heads and good digestions, Ned reflected, responding affably to the chorus of “Merry Christmas” from his fellow guests. He helped himself to kidneys and bacon. He declined champagne in favor of ale and sat down beside Godfrey Belton, who had a bumper of ale at his elbow and a plate piled high with kippers.

  “Nothing like kippers to start the day,” Godfrey observed, casting his neighbor’s plate a sideways glance. “Not for you, I see, Allenton.”

  “No,” agreed Ned. “Tell me, Belton, I’ve been out of the country so long I’ve forgotten almost everything…I don’t recall your family. Where are you from?”

  A dull flush bloomed on the man’s cheek as he extracted a handful of bones from his mouth, laying them carefully against the side of his plate. “As it happens, my family is from Cumberland.”

  “Ah. That would explain it,” Ned said amiably, spearing a kidney. “Local, and yet not.” It didn’t, of course. Cumberland and Northumberland were so close that if Belton’s was a prominent family in the one county they would be known in the other. And he was certain he had never heard of the
Beltons. Either they were not prominent county folk, or they came from somewhere else altogether.

  Godfrey mumbled into his kippers.

  “Lady Georgiana tells me you’re building up at Great Ryle,” Ned observed, lavishing mustard on his kidneys.

  “Lady Georgiana should learn to keep my business to herself,” Godfrey declared. “You know women, Allenton. Can’t keep a still tongue.” He tried for a hearty laugh of shared masculine exasperation with the opposite sex, but failed miserably.

  Ned smiled. “Of course…of course,” he agreed. “But if it’s the home that’s to be hers, maybe she didn’t think it was a secret.”

  His companion was silenced and buried his head in his tankard, setting it down with a bang after a moment and calling for more. A servant hurried up with the ale jug and refilled the tankard. Across the table, Georgiana looked at her fiancé with a cool green gaze that said nothing.

  Although Ned thought he could read it.

  But there was a lot he could not read.

  Roger Selby pushed back his chair with a screech on the polished boards. He stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Lord of Misrule, and I decree that this morning we shall play piquet for sixpence a point. After the first round of one game per pair, each winner plays another winner. At the end of the play the losers will receive forfeits decreed by the Lord of Misrule. The final winner, however, will choose the forfeit for his, the final, loser.”

  Applause greeted the decree and Ned resigned himself to a grim morning. The financial stakes were low at sixpence a point, but the prospect of Misrule’s forfeits promised only horseplay, although perhaps less malicious in Selby’s hands than in Belton’s. He himself was a good card player, however. It was a required and much-valued skill in the social round among the members of the British raj in India, and he had little trouble dispatching his opponents.

  He was surprised to see that only two hours had passed when he stood up, bowing to his defeated opponent. The game with the giggling Mrs. Eddington had been over quickly. He couldn’t work out whether the lady was genuinely dim-witted, or just playing the part because she thought it attractive. She had handed over her fifty sixpences with much fan fluttering and exclamations of how stupid she was but how she couldn’t possibly have hoped to defeat a player as skilled as the viscount.