According to her aunt, she was practically affianced to their landlord, whom Mrs. Phippen did not particularly care for. In fact, she was so opposed to Lucy’s impulsive agreement to marry the man, she was trying to shove the young woman beneath Major MacKenzie’s very nose.
He shook his head hard to clear the dangerous thoughts swirling about there. “Are your belongings ready for stowing in the carriage?” His aged footman, James, was carefully negotiating the creaking stairs, a trunk balanced on one shoulder. Hugh met him halfway to avoid any disasters. “I’ll take this one. Why don’t you fetch Mrs. Phippen’s trunk to save time?”
James favored him with a look that said he knew what the young earl was up to, but would not question either Hugh or his own extreme good fortune in having been blessed with a kind employer.
“That’s it,” Lucy trilled. “That’s all I brought.”
Hugh set the trunk down with a thump and did a mental hiccup when he recalled the last time he’d headed to Ascot for the races with his former mistress. He’d needed an extra carriage for all the fripperies she’d traveled with to accompany him to the races. Something about Lucy’s offhand explanation of the paucity of her belongings didn’t sit well with him. She deserved more finery…Zeus’s cod…she should at least havetwotrunks of fine things, like silk stockings for her lovely legs. Well, he hadn’t actually seen her legs, but there was that one time a gust of wind had turned her full skirts into a sort of sail and he’d gotten aglimpse of her ankles. Extraordinary ankles which must surely be attached to a superlative pair of legs…
Suddenly Lucy’s voice turned sharp, knocking him out of his forbidden thoughts. “Lord Westfalia, have you lost your voice now? It will never do for two guests at the 12thNight festivities to be at such a disadvantage. One can’t hear and another stays mute for long periods of time.” She clapped her hand over her mouth then when she realized how cruel her light dismissal of the major’s hearing difficulties must sound. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I mean I didn’t think how unfeeling and hurtful my words would be.” She looked around furtively to make sure Duncan had not noticed, but then he wouldn’t, would he? Even if he’d been there with them.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “Did you ask me something?”
“Yes,” she said. “I asked if you and Major MacKenzie would be staying through until the 12thNight Ball.”
Hugh wanted in the worst way to say “No,” emphatically, but he didn’t have the heart to disappoint Lucy. “Of course we’ll stay,” he reassured her.
“What costume will you wear?”
God, this woman was relentless. “I suppose I could rummage through Lord Rumsford’s collection and find that ratty old bear costume Julian used to wear.”
“Oh, goody.” She clapped her hands and did a little dance in his cavernous hallway which would surely miss the sound of her voice as much as he would when she went back to London. “I’ll go as Goldilocks.”
Hugh sighed and stared up at the elaborately carved, crumbling medallions across the ceiling of the entrance to what must be one of the most decrepit, lonely manor houses in England.
4
EARLY CHRISTMAS EVE
MONTCLIFFE ABBEY
Essex, England
Duncan couldn’t decide whether he hated headmistress Phippen’s intense interest in his hearing woes which caused her to frequently stick her face close to his to show him how a particular word looked on her lips, or whether he actually yearned for her attentions. Right now, he was leaning toward the pleasurable side of having those plump, glistening lips hovering close by. The scent of her breath alone was enough to drive him insane: a touch of cinnamon overlaid with pure woman. He wondered how long he could keep his attention, erm, purely academic.
The carriage abruptly lurched to a stop, and they were at the side portico of the Abbey. They’d been on the road for hours, but he’d totally lost track of time. He was surprised to see the soaring arches of another ancient pile. This one, however, seemed to be in much better state of upkeep than Hugh’s manor which seemed to be crumbling out from under them whilst they watched.
He could tell by the condition of the nearby stables and the dairy they’d passed on the way toward the main house that thiswas a well-loved, well-maintained home estate. Never mind the havey-cavey architecture which had evolved from the original Abbey probably built around the fifteenth or sixteenth century. The vaulted cloisters remained as they had for centuries around the entry courtyard, but it looked as though two stone towers had been added at some point to accommodate the growing families of the residents over the years.
When Duncan stepped down out of the carriage and then turned to hand down Lucy, the earl was there ahead of him. He couldn’t help noticing his usually stand-offish employer was holding Miss Phippen’s hand just a touch too long. When he noticed Mrs. Phippen frown behind her niece, he had to stifle a grin. Her matchmaking efforts apparently were being sent on a detour.
A strikingly handsome man strode toward them from inside the house, a welcoming smile on his face. “Happy Christmas,” he intoned in a deep, booming voice before embracing Lucy for a long while. After sending her and her aunt into the Abbey, he moved on to Hugh and clapped him on the back before sending a friendly, quizzical look toward Duncan.
Hugh turned back toward Duncan. “Lord Rumsford, I’d like to present Major Duncan MacKenzie, on furlough from his majesty’s Royal Engineers. Major Duncan, your host, Lord Rumsford”
Duncan nodded in acknowledgement. “I look forward to seeing the improvements you’ve made here at Montcliffe Abbey. Lord Westfalia wants to do some similar things at Westmont.”
“Ah…the new stables. You’ll have to talk to my colleague, Sir James.” An involuntary smile crossed his lips. “He’s the mastermind behind the modern design for our new stables, not to mention our fine stock. You’ll not find the like anywhere outside of Dublin.” He swept his arms toward the newly constructed buildings. “Go explore what we’ve done anytime you like. Although, I must warn you, since today is Christmas Eve, Mrs. Phippen and my housekeeper will probably appropriate you, and those broad shoulders, into gathering greenery and the Yule log for the Abbey’s celebrations.” He winked at Hugh. “Lots of mistletoe and kissing boughs, my friend. You’d better stay on your toes if you two bachelors are determined to stay unattached. Every marriage-minded mama from London will be here with their latest daughter on the hunt for single male fodder.”
After Hugh gave out a theatrical groan at the warning, the viscount turned, and they followed him into the fortress-like Abbey.
Grace bitdown hard on her lower lip. Drat the viscount’s maneuvering. Instead of being able to send Lucy and Duncan off on their own to find just the right Yule log, Lord Rumsford had ordered Grace to join Duncan because, he claimed, her efficiency combined with Duncan’s broad shoulders would make the time go faster. She stared down at the hem of her dress with a start when she felt something pushing at her ankles. One of the endless six-toed cats that Lord Rumsfeld sheltered at the Abbey was swirling back and forth against her legs. She watched the feline closely.
She would never admit this to anyone else, but there had been times when one of the Abbey’s many spoiled cats had turned out to be able to vanish through the old stone walls. She shuddered to think the one swishing at her skirts was one of the ghostly crew. They never showed up randomly, however. They usually had something to tell the unwary Abbey visitor. She reached down tentatively to rub behind the ears of the currentcreature interested in her low boots and was rewarded with a loud, rumbling purr. Grace let out the breath she’d been holding in. Ghosts did not purr. Did they?
Viscount Rumsford kept a great many six-toed cats at the Abbey as a result of Sir James’s friendship with the owner of the well known Bellingham shipping firm, Mrs. Honore Bellingham. She was a delightful French woman who had kept the cats for years, and one of her especially, um, aggressive toms had spread litters of kittens throughout her Mayfair neighborhood over the years. Also, in an odd coincidence, a man who’d owned the Abbey over a hundred years earlier was a very wealthy sea captain who’d erected an elaborate sculptured monument to his favorite ship’s cat in one of the estate gardens. According to the legend, his beloved cat’s ashes were enshrined within the monument.
“Grace…”
