But he changed his mind when she looked up and smiled at him, all sunshine and dimples and red hair and green eyes—and freckles. He set his hands instead on either side of her small waist and lifted her down bodily. The poke of her bonnet reached barely to his chin when her feet touched the cobbles. She was such a little thing, but she was always a perfect bundle of energy. She laughed up at him.
“Gerard,” she said, “we have been speechless with awe for the last few minutes. It is a veritablepalace!”
He grinned at her and lowered his head to kiss her impulsively first on one cheek and then on the other. “Welcome to Thornwood,” he said. “How good it is to see you again—to see both of you.” But especially Jeannette. They had always been the best of friends, able to talk easily to each other on almost any subject under the sun.
But he became aware of the silent presence of the countess, and suddenly and for no discernible reason it seemed important to him that she should like his friends—and that they should like her.
“May I present the Countess of Wanstead?” he said. “My dear friends from Montreal, Christina—Jeannette and Andrew Campbell, brother and sister as I am sure you can tell from their similar coloring.”
Jeannette turned her head sharply to gaze at Christina and Andrew looked startled. The earl knew what was coming even before either of them spoke, but he was powerless to stop it. He should have been more careful in his introductions.
“The countess?” Andrew said, his voice all astonishment. “You havemarried, Gerard? But this is—”
The countess clasped her hands together, lifted her chin, and thinned her lips.
“Her ladyship is my cousin’s widow,” the earl explained hastily. “She still bears the title, Andrew, as I do not yet have a wife of my own.”
It was an embarrassing moment, but Andrew merely chuckled and bowed over her hand.
“Lady Wanstead,” he said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours,” she said, smiling at them both, the perfectly courteous hostess.
“You must forgive us, Lady Wanstead,” Jeannette said, extending her own hand. “We knew of your existence but we expected an aged dowager. We should have remembered, of course, that your husband was Gerard’scousin.”
Christina smiled as she took Jeannette’s hand in her own. “Do come inside where it is warmer, Miss Campbell,” she said. “And you too, sir. You will be eager to settle in your rooms and freshen up after your journey. Perhaps you would even like to rest before tea. There will be plenty of time. You are the first to arrive.”
“Are we?” Andrew Campbell grimaced. “It is a family failing, I am afraid.”
“I hope,” the earl said, “your journey down here was less eventful than mine. I had to stop to have a wheel repaired.” He was walking up the steps beside Andrew, the two ladies ahead of them. They were a marked contrast to each other, he thought, both lovely but in quite different ways. It seemed strange seeing them together, his past and his present—and perhaps his future? He had felt a more than usually strong rush of affection at seeing Jeannette again.
And being the Earl of Wanstead, he had realized with some reluctance during the past week, really had set a certain burden of responsibility on his shoulders.
But he would not think of that at present. He would consider it at greater leisure over Christmas.
There was a great flurry of arrivals after that. There was a constant to-ing and fro-ing from the terrace to the hall and up the staircase to the various guest chambers. And then mingled with it there was a steady descent of guests making for the drawing room even before it was teatime. A swell of sound came from the room as acquaintances greeted one another and exchanged observations on their journey and comments on the weather and on the beauty of Thornwood.
Lady Hannah and a brightly flustered Lady Margaret were acting as hostesses in there, Christina knew. Aunt Hannah was in her element as she had an acquaintance with several of the guests and was quite capable of greeting even those she did not know and making them comfortable. Lady Hannah and Mr. Milne, her late husband, had mingled a great deal with society right up to the time of his death. Though she had never grumbled since straitened circumstances after her widowhood had brought her back to Thornwood, Christina had always been aware that she found the absence of social life at her nephew’s home somewhat trying.
Margaret was clearly nervous.
“But I know no one in there except Aunt Hannah,” she had protested when Christina had found her hovering outside the door, unwilling to go in even though only three or four of the guests had descended at that point.
“But of course,” Christina had said. “How could you know anyone, Meg? Smile and go to Aunt Hannah. She will present you, and then you must simply keep on smiling and answer any questions you are asked and think of some to ask in your turn. It will all be far easier than you expect. Your hair now looks very becoming, by the way.”
Poor Meg—so unpracticed in the social arts despite her age and rank. Christina felt a familiar twinge of guilt She had not been able to help matters while Gilbert was alive, of course, or for the year following his death. But she had made no effort during the past five months or so to make life more interesting for her sister-in-law. It was almost as if she had been lulled into a sleep long ago and had been hovering on the brink of waking but had resisted doing so. Sometimes it was more comfortable to remain asleep than to be awake.
Margaret, she saw twenty minutes later when she had a moment to peep into the drawing room, was in the very midst of a group of young people, both ladies and gentlemen, looking flushed and animated and very pretty indeed. If only Gerard really meant to give her a Season during the coming spring, Christina thought. If only he did not forget once Christmas was over and his thoughts turned back to Canada. She would forgive him a great deal if he would just do that for Meg.
But there was no time to dwell upon thoughts of her sister-in-law. There were guests to welcome and names to remember. She thought she remembered Sir Michael and Lady Milchip from her own come-out Season. She certainly remembered their elder son, Mr. Ralph Milchip, who had been a friend of Gerard’s. They had their younger son with them too, Mr. Jeremy Milchip, and their young daughter, Winifred, who blushed shyly as soon as she stepped down from her papa’s carriage and saw the earl and the countess standing there. Meg must be given the task of seeing that she was drawn into every activity over the coming days, Christina thought. And at the same time Meg could learn from the girl something of the wisdom of dressing and styling her hair with reasonable simplicity.
Lady Gaynor, a handsome widow in her forties, and her two young daughters, who were introduced as Lizzie and Susan, arrived at almost the same moment as the darkly handsome young Mr. Samuel Radway and his sister, Clara. And then, before Christina could be quite sure she would remember which name went with which face, Mr. and Mrs. John Cannadine arrived with their two young children, the younger of whom was fast asleep in his father’s arms while four-year-old Alice was cross and loudly wailing.
“She has missed her afternoon sleep,” Laura Cannadine explained apologetically. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Wanstead. Just when one wishes one’s offspring to be on their best behavior, they embarrass one beyond bearing.”
“I know,” Christina said, smiling in sympathy. “I have two of my own. Let me take you straight up to the nursery. Ah, your nurse is in the other carriage, I see. I shall show you where to set Alice down and my children’s nurse will help yours get settled. I know just how important a regular routine is for children.”
“How kind you are,” Laura said as her husband, grinning, transferred his sleeping son to the nurse’s arms.
