The Viscount's Only Love: Christmas Belles, Book 2 Read online

  The door to the coach fell open and a tall, thin, blond-haired man beamed at them. He appeared expertly tailored in black cape, bottle green frock coat and black breeches, although Neville knew Alastair Demerest had been a Captain of the Royal Dragoons. Griff had told him Alastair had suffered gravely at Waterloo. In fact, he'd gone missing for many months, only recently recovering some of his faculties. Today, he appeared more rested than he had the other day when first they'd met.

  "I am very ready to leave this city," he announced.

  "Come in and welcome," Griff urged him.

  Both men greeted their newest traveler who took a seat next to Griff. "Pardon me for sitting near you. Hope you don't mind. I can no longer ride backward in a coach. Makes me ill."

  "Nothing could persuade me you must sit otherwise," Griff said.

  "And you, Bromley?" Kingston asked him.

  "My injuries have less to do with riding than with walking." He lifted one leg and pointed to the other foot. "Sit as you will, Your Grace."

  He raised a hand. "Alastair, please. I am new to the formalities of this inherited title and among friends—which I hope we will become, Bromley—I wish to be informal."

  "Thank you," he said to him and invited him to address him by his given name. "It seems we have a similar quest so that friendship seems an easy task."

  "Oh?" Alastair glanced from him to Griff. "What quest is that?"

  Griff laughed. "Do tell him."

  "I asked the noble earl of Marsden here if he might invite me to his home so that I might renew an acquaintance."

  Alastair caught on to the game and grinned with feigned horror. "Do you tell me you court a lady?"

  "Miss Delphine Craymore."

  "Ah," Alastair said with raised brows from one man to the other. "So we are on a campaign to secure brides, are we?"

  "Just so," he said.

  "And if we are successful," Alastair said, "you and I shall be brothers-in-law."

  "Right, you are."

  "And what of you, old man?" Alastair nudged Griff.

  "Not I," he said with what sounded like more determination than conviction. "I'm on another mission."

  "I see," said Alastair on a note of disbelief. "To do what?"

  "Enjoy the Season. The cuisine. The music."

  Alastair and Neville raised a brow at each other and did not press their host.

  Neville settled into the squabs. He'd enjoyed the positive outlook he entertained for as long as possible. Once Delphine Craymore took a look at him and decided on his future, he might have no more happy Christmases. Ever.

  But he'd anticipated her anger. Prepared for her rejection. Besides, where she was concerned, he believed in love. Just as she had.

  Now he also had to believe in miracles.

  Chapter 3

  December 21, 1815

  Marsden Hall

  Brighton, England

  Del loved a party. She grinned at her vision in the oval mirror. The midnight blue satin skirts were overlaid with ice blue tulle which matched her eyes. The modiste had been correct to choose the fabrics for her. The gown, the most expensive of all items in her new wardrobe, was one she'd designed for herself, but it was paid for, courtesy of the generosity of their Aunt Gertrude and her step-son Griff, the earl of Marsden.

  And Del knew why. The gown, along with all her latest dresses, was meant to attract a suitor. A husband.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  I'd rather none.

  She brushed her fingertips over the line of her healthy décolleté, wishing she were less endowed and resembled her two willowy older sisters. More like their mother in ample form, Del attracted men. That was no hardship. She liked men. Enjoyed them for their banter and their wit. She cultivated them for their knowledge of art and politics. She indulged them usually much longer than society deemed polite, if only to hear them describe their passions for sketching and painting. Like a famous portrait artist whom Aunt Gertrude had invited to an informal supper last week.

  Picking up her fan and tugging on her long white kid gloves, she headed for the stairs. She'd have a jolly time at this party. It might indeed be her last glorious event, given that both her sisters were determined that they all should leave Marsden Hall and the charity of their aunt and Griff. It wasn't that Del particularly enjoyed living on the dole of her mother's sister. Even to think about it rubbed her raw. But she appreciated the comforts of good home and food. Who wouldn't?

  Pfff. She could curb her desires. She’d done that, never asking for favors or more pin money. She had manners and discretion. But she was a product of her coddled childhood. So if she had a saving grace, it was that she would have liked to give some of that to those children at the vicarage orphanage who would never taste the delights she had. Everyone deserved food, shelter, warmth and a knowledge of art and architecture, the joys of another language and…love.

  She shook off that last and picked up her pace, running down the back stairs to the Red Salon.

  She would not be sad tonight. Nor for the next few.

  But the past caught up with her and slowed her descent.

  The world had been so dark, so dull since the family's tragedies began more than two years ago. Their father's drunken stupors, his loss of mind and money and estate. Their brother George's death in Toulouse. Both father and son, passing within weeks of each other. Her loss of the only man who'd ever appealed to her with his quiet charm, his love of poetry and portraiture. The war, the endless drone of fighting. Their friends gone to the Continent or the sea, many coming home in pieces, others never returning at all. Like Alastair Demerest, their childhood friend. Like Alastair's older brother, William who died beside George. Like Griff, their Aunt Gertrude's step-son, on Wellington's staff and always away. She, Marjorie and Bee left without home or money and robbed by their own father, no less, of their once sterling family reputation.

  She paused before the door to the salon. One hand to her forehead, she swallowed her despair. This party would be fun. She would see to it. For herself. For others. And if at this party, her two sisters found husbands they could love—which she seriously doubted—nonetheless she would rejoice for them.

  She straightened her spine. As for her, she'd fallen in love once. She'd never fall again.

  The fragrance of pine boughs and flickering of dozens of candles dressed Aunt Gertrude's Red Salon in the glow of the Christmas season.

  Del swept into the room, sorrows hidden, hailing her aunt and ready to help that lady greet their guests. Marjorie soon followed in a cloud of salmon and ivory organza that complemented her complexion and honey-colored hair.

  For the lady who stood beside Del and Marjorie chatting about her gown and the supper menu, this seven-day house party was to be a glorious social event of Brighton. Cheerful and silver-haired, the late third earl of Marsden's countess had invited twenty-six to the house for the next seven days. For her Christmas night ball, she had invited more than one hundred. All but ten responded in the affirmative. The success of Aunt's party could have been assured only by numbers, but she would count on elegance and details to move the earth to applaud her.

  Aunt Gertrude was used to such instant acceptance. And flamboyance too. She was their mother's younger sister. An actress for only a brief moment years ago in London, she'd been discovered on the boards by the third earl. Recently aggrieved by his first wife's passing, the man had loved her on sight. After all, she was effervescent, whimsical. They'd wed and scandalized the ton for the earl's urgency to marry. But all was soon forgiven, for the lady was a welcome addition to society. Nor did she show physical signs of having allowed the earl pre-marital liberties. In fact, no child was ever conceived by the couple—and the gossipmongers remained without purchase. Instead the earl and his second countess lived quite happily ever after, doting on the earl's only child by his deceased wife, his son, Griffith.

  "Where is Belinda?" their aunt asked them both, a flutter of her fan to the diamonds at her throat. "She
's late. We must welcome them all. If we don't open the salon doors soon to receive them, you know that Simms will scold us."

  Del chuckled at the prospect of the butler's reprimand.

  Marjorie looked pained.

  Their butler, Simms, new at his position, was an odd duck. Young for a butler, he was also well educated and appallingly good looking, fit, firm and formidable. Exquisite in his attire, he was exacting in his duties, his etiquette and friendships. He claimed to know many of his peers in service to the ton of Brighton. His tidbits were a great benefit to their aunt who loved the morsels of gossip that he might impart. Indeed, one of his best friends was head butler to His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent. And so, Marsden Hall in Simms's capable hands ran to the minute of punctuality.

  A side door to the salon opened and Bee appeared.

  "There you are, my Belinda." Their aunt sailed toward her in a cloud of smoky satin and diamonds. "Come stand here, beside me. There. Marjorie next, then Delphine."

  They took their places in their aunt's receiving line.

  Belinda gave a wan smile, not happy to be at this house party. Marjorie wore an expectant smile for she hoped to use her skills at cards and dice to win money from the guests. Del was giddy at the idea of this event, eager to meet new people. Eager to find those who might donate money to the orphanage. Eager to dance again. Ready to laugh.

  "I like your gown." Marjorie complimented Belinda on the silver lama and white lace. Her sister had suffered deeply since the battle of Waterloo in June when the one man she'd always wished to marry and never could, had gone missing, presumed dead. Belinda's heart was not in this house party as it was their aunt's stated purpose to find them each a husband. To establish their independence from their aunt's charity and to gain for herself and her siblings income, Bee had recently applied at a registry in town for a governess position. She had not told them this, but Del had a friend in town who'd heard the news.

  This cut Del to the quick. The three of them were daughters of a viscount, albeit a man who had drunk and gambled away his fortune and the money that would have sufficed for their dowries. Now they lived on the good graces of their only remaining relative, their aunt. But to seek employment was a drastic solution.

  "Thank you, I like yours too," Bee said. Despite the fact that Marjorie had honey blonde hair and Bee's was nearly black, they could wear many of the same colors. Because their height and figures were similar, Marjorie would look wonderful in Bee's gown. "You may borrow it, if you like. But I like you in the salmon."

  "We can exchange."

  Del rocked forward on her toes, ready for the fun of meeting new and exciting people. "I think tonight will be a marvelous success, don't you? I cannot thank you enough, Aunt, for all your kindnesses."

  Gertrude examined Del with knowing eyes. "Set your sights on any one young buck yet, my chick?"

  "Soon, Aunt." She preferred to dissemble rather than be specific about any one male guest. It kept Aunt Gertrude happy to think she might choose a man among those attending. "I read your invitation list over and over again. I'd like to get to know their characters before I considered any other factors." She turned to their oldest sister. "And you, Bee? Will you set yourself to a happy evening?"

  "I will."

  "Aunt has decided we are to sit as Prinny does in his dining room in the Pavilion," Marjorie announced, a smile playing at her lips.

  "A woman beside a man and so on," said Delphine with excitement. Delightful. "We change our attentions at each course."

  Bee looked alarmed. "When did you change the seating, Aunt?"

  "An hour ago. Simms did it in a thrice!" Aunt snapped her fingers.

  "The footmen," added Marjorie, "did a fine job. I inspected the table."

  "Been at work, have you, Marjorie," asked Bee, "match-making?"

  "The assignments seemed superb for tonight," she assured her, the sticks of her Chinese fan to Bee's white glove. "We'll change seatings throughout the week."

  "Oh? That sounds dubious. Who am I to sit beside tonight?"

  "On your left, Belinda," said their aunt, "is Lord Carlson. I put him next to you."

  Bee stared at their aunt. Unhappy Bee. The man was a widower. Older than Bee by a decade and a politician. A boring one, too. He blustered and blew on and on about any subject he fancied. "And on my other side?"

  "Lord Hallerton. Recently home from the Continent."

  Oh, terrible. Del winced. Hallerton was another bore. The fourth Viscount Hallerton was an authority on shipping and commerce, rich from his family's sea trade to the Americas and now the newly opened ports of France.

  "You mustn't worry, Bee," Marjorie said. "Hallerton is not in the marriage game."

  "To choose a man," gushed Aunt Gertrude, "we have days and days, for you girls."

  "And Aunt has invited a bevy of eligible ones," said Del, trying to raise her sisters' spirits. Even if none seemed like marriage material, a few questions to a man and he blossomed like a rose. One could sit back and listen…and learn a thing or two.

  "Yes, it's Christmas, my chicks, so let us begin. I say, Simms," Gertrude hailed the butler, as he entered through the private hall. Stiff as marble in his formal navy livery with woven gold ribbons at his wrists and chest, he appeared more officious than usual. "We should open the doors."

  "As you wish, ma'am." He strode to the far set of double doors that led to the foyer and pulled them wide. Guests milled about, dressed in their finest silks and satins, jewels and medals. Knowing their rank by heart, they formed a receiving line in precedence and filed into the salon with yuletide greetings. Aunt Gertrude took the courtesies and bows, then she passed the guests on to Bee, Marjorie and finally Delphine. The footmen arrived with their refreshments and served them all. Simms supervised, silent as if he conducted an orchestra, then drifted away like a phantom to his lair.

  As the chatter rose to a pitch, Simms re-appeared at the doors. The corner of his left cheek twitched as he suppressed a grin. Del often conjectured that the dour servant simply needed to laugh so hard he popped his buttons. But for tonight, he turned aside to reveal the manly forms of three new arrivals.

  Aunt Gertrude caught her butler's eye, then examined the late comers. At once she stiffened, one hand to her bosom. "Dear heavens."

  Everyone turned to view the three men who stood upon the threshold.

  "Happy Christmas, Mama," said Griffith Harlinger, the earl of Marsden, who opened his arms to his step-mother.

  With a cry, she rushed in.

  Marjorie sank like a stone to a chair.

  Bee gasped.

  Del froze, her heart pounding, blinking at the trio of men.

  Here stood Griff, healthy, hearty and whole in his formal Horse Guards blue uniform.

  Next to him was a man, a ghost of his former self. He was gaunt, his shoulders sloped, his left arm in a sling against his chest and a raw slash upon one cheek. Well-shaven, crisply attired in the latest formal fashion, he smiled at Bee with a question in his tender dark brown eyes. This—miraculously—was Alastair Demerest, presumed dead, lost to them ever since Waterloo in June, presumably lost to Bee forever. But here. Here!

  But next to him stood another. A vision. The very man Del never thought to see again. Her gaze absorbed him like sunshine takes up rain. He lived, he breathed. He smiled at her.

  Del stood her ground, a storm of delight and anger whirling inside her. Many inches taller than she, this man had always seemed mythical, a hero one could admire. But tonight here he appeared less godlike, more human, wounded with the need for the thick black cane he clutched in one hand. He wore his officer's red uniform of the Coldstream Guards, the attire she'd seen him in last. His curly auburn hair and soft grey eyes were still beautiful to behold. She licked her lips, remembering at once how Herculean he was, how damned handsome she found him. God help her.

  He gazed at her too long. His long red lashes fluttered as he tore himself to perform his social duties to go and meet Aunt Gertrude a
nd receive her welcome.

  Then he ambled toward Del, leaning heavily on that ugly cane.

  Oh, my darling. She caught back a cry. You are so hurt. How? Who has dared mar the perfection of you?

  Neville took her hands in his. "Good evening, my dear. You're cold."

  "Oh, Neville. You shock me so, I should fall in a faint."

  He smiled with hesitation. "Please don't, my dear. I wanted this to be a fine surprise. I'd never shock you. Never hurt you."

  Yet he had once. So why should she believe him now?

  "Look who's come home!" Aunt Gertrude announced to them all as she allowed Griff to escape her embrace and greet Bee, Del and finally Marjorie.

  The guests cheered and applauded.

  But Bee cried as Alastair did his duty to greet Aunt Gertrude.

  "You traveled by coach together?" Del asked Neville. How was it that she spoke with him, as easily as she ever had? More than two years had elapsed since last she stood and talked with him. Or kissed him or loved—

  "We did. The earl was kind enough to invite me to join him here."

  "How good of him," Del said without understanding how such a coincidence could occur.

  "I asked him to introduce me to your Aunt Gertrude, his step-mother."

  Del's skin prickled. "Why?"

  "My cousin Penelope wrote to tell me she was invited here to the house party."

  "How good of her." Del found her among the crowd, staring back her. Lady Penelope Goddard was a handsome woman, brown-eyed, caramel-haired. Tonight she wore a pale golden tissued gown over a darker golden slip of crèpe lisse. Her vibrant blonde-streaked hair was swept up in delicate wisps that framed her oval face to such perfection that she appeared to be a saucy angel. The ton had it that she was thirty years old, yet thrice widowed, and without any children to secure her right to support by any of her former husbands' estates. A society beauty known for the lively discussions during her afternoon salons, she was a woman men sought out for the favor of her political connections. Or, it was speculated, perhaps for other favors more intimate.