‘I assure you, any customs you keep will be heartily enjoyed. My last few Christmases have not been happy ones.’ Gregor stroked the dog, the green of his eyes darkening with his disquiet and, to her surprise, making her own heart constrict. She hated to imagine anyone, even Lord Marbrook, so unhappy at such a pleasant time of year.
‘Yes, we were very sorry to hear of your brother and father,’ Lady Rutherford offered.
Lord Marbrook had lost a father and an older brother in the space of a year, all after enduring who knew what horrors in France. It softened Lily’s attitude towards him, but not her desire to escape and avoid any more silent judgement or unintended missteps. With the red paint stain on his jacket mocking her, she backed slowly away from the group. They were so busy chatting, they didn’t notice her as she made for the sitting room and the peace of her painting.
Over Lady Rutherford’s shoulder, Gregor caught Miss Rutherford stealing off down the hallway. She didn’t run, but moved with the same timid grace he remembered from outside the ballroom four years ago, only tonight she was sneaking away from him, not to him. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been kind to him once and he’d treated her with the disdain all Marbrooks showed anyone they thought beneath them. So many times his father had railed against Gregor’s friendship with Laurus, but he’d defied the man to maintain it. If only he’d possessed the courage to defy his father the night of the ball, but at seventeen, he’d still hungered after his father’s approval and in an effort to secure it, he’d hurt a young woman who didn’t deserve it.
Miss Rutherford paused near the centre of the hall and looked back at the group. Catching his eye, she stood up a little straighter and Gregor silently applauded her spirit. Regardless of the incident with the paintbrush, she’d faced him with sufficient resolve to impress a man used to commanding men and he admired her for it. While she studied him, the candles on a nearby sideboard brightened the whites of her eyes and caught the faint amber strands in her brown hair. Despite the simple style of her grey dress, it couldn’t hide the roundness of her high breasts or the faint curve of hips just beneath the paint streaks. In the four years since he’d last seen her, she’d lost the plumpness of girlhood and gained the more sinewy curves and lines of a woman. The supple changes made Gregor’s breath catch in his throat and for a moment he thought he saw her own sweet chest pause in its rising and falling. Then it was gone and with it the faint connection holding her here. With her lips pressed tight together in disapproval, she turned and fled into the room at the far end of the hall.
Gregor ran his hand over the dog’s wiry fur, trying to draw comfort from the creature, but there was little to be found. He’d hesitated to come to Helkirk Place, unsure how the family might accept him after the débâcle at the wedding. Their kind welcome only increased his guilt, yet still he was glad to be here, for he had sins to atone for with Miss Rutherford.
‘I’ll have my maid see to your coat,’ Lady Rutherford offered, taking his arm and leading him upstairs to show him to his room. The rest of the family followed, especially the youngest girl who lingered by his side, watching him like the dog did. Behind them, everyone else talked and laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls.
The noise drove Gregor into silence. He wasn’t accustomed to such an animated family. Despite his many years of friendship with Laurus, his father had never allowed him to come here during the holidays, insisting Gregor spend a lonely six weeks in the mausoleum which was Marbrook Manor. It was easier for his parents to berate him for not meeting their high expectations with him under their roof than through the few letters either of them bothered to write to their least favourite son.
It was a pleasure to be in the midst of so much happiness.
‘You needn’t trouble yourself or the staff about the coat.’ He owned twenty others like it and not one of them warmed him as much as this house and family did.
‘He’s quite a good person, once you get to know him,’ Laurus pressed, standing beside Lily’s canvas, his brown eyes, identical in colour to hers, focused on the painting.
‘Which I have no intention of doing.’ Lily brushed a stripe of orange along the horizon line, working carefully so as not to get paint on her blue-velvet dress. She’d crept upstairs some time ago to change, determined to appear more refined and ladylike the next time she encountered their grand visitor.
‘I’d like to be his friend,’ Daisy gushed from her place by the fire, her hands folded in the lap of her long brown-wool gown. It seemed Lily wasn’t the only who’d changed in honour of their guest.
‘I think you’ve already captured his attention.’ Laurus winked at their sister and Lily swiped at her brother with her hand, trying to warn him off encouraging Daisy.
The Rutherford trait of making a fool of one’s self in front of others was the strongest in Daisy, for she didn’t possess the maturity to mind her manners or her tongue, and their mother had long given up trying to instil such a trait in her youngest child.
‘Enchant him enough and perhaps he’ll wait for you to reach your majority,’ Laurus teased, stepping out of Lily’s reach as she took another swing at him. ‘You might even become a viscountess and outrank Petunia.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Daisy clapped her hands in front of her in hope.
‘No,’ Lily answered. ‘No Marbrook is going to sully the family name with the daughter of a baronet.’
‘Or perhaps you’re afraid Daisy might take him from you?’ Laurus prodded.
‘Don’t tease her or she might ruin your jacket like she did Lord Marbrook’s.’ Daisy laughed with the smugness of a ten-year-old.
‘What are you all jabbering on about?’ Aunt Alice demanded, shuffling into the room on her cane.
Lily set down her brush and hurried to help her aunt into her favourite chair by the fire. ‘Nothing, we’re only discussing our guest.’
‘A fine young man that one.’ Aunt Alice sighed as Lily fetched a blanket to lay over her aunt’s knees. ‘Mind you don’t let him get away from you like you did last time.’
Lily struggled to not groan as she propped her aunt’s feet up on a low stool.
‘Oh, he isn’t interested in Lily,’ Daisy protested.
‘Mind your tongue,’ Lily demanded as movement near the sitting room door silenced her.
Lord Marbrook entered, the dark green coat which had replaced his ruined tan one sharpening the colour of his eyes. The sternness of his father didn’t harden his piercing look or make rigid his stance. Instead, he stood with the discipline of an army officer and the humble hesitancy of a guest, one respectful of his place as an outsider instead of the worshipped scion of a titled family.
Lily rose and hurried back to her canvas. Daisy wasn’t so timid, rushing up to him and dragging him into the room to speak with Aunt Alice. The older woman raised her lorgnette to inspect him as Pygmalion, roused from his nap in front of the fire, trotted over to sit beside him.
‘What are you doing in this godforsaken part of the country?’ Aunt Alice demanded in a tone brusque enough to make Lily wince.
‘It’s far more festive here than anywhere else I might spend Christmas.’ Lord Marbrook’s smile dropped a little about the corners, so subtle it might have been missed, but Lily noticed the change. Knowing something of his family, she wasn’t surprised by his pain or his willingness to come to Helkirk Place. She stepped back behind her canvas, hiding from Lord Marbrook and the dangerous notion of caring about him. He hadn’t appreciated