Christina descended from the nursery ten minutes later in time to greet Lord and Lady Langan, who also had two children with them, both boys, both a little older than the other two. They would surely be splendid companions for Rachel.
Two gentlemen had arrived together while she was upstairs, she learned. She tried to remember from the list she had conned over the past few days who was still missing, and discovered to her dismay that she could no longer remember who had already come. After ten years of marriage, she thought ruefully, this sort of thing should be second nature to her.
The remaining two guests arrived just as she was about to give orders for the tea tray to be taken to the drawing room before going there herself to preside. They were two gentlemen, both in their forties, Christina estimated. Like the first arrivals, they were business associates of the earl’s, retired partners in his own fur-trading company. They were brothers, clearly gentlemen, whose Scottish accents would have betrayed their origins even if their names had not.
“Mr. Colin Stewart, my lady,” his lordship said, presenting them to her. “And Mr. Geordie Stewart, his brother.”
And that was everyone, she thought in bewildered relief. Now all she had to do was learn the trick of calling everyone by the correct name.
“Welcome to Thornwood,” she said. “I hope we can make your stay happy here over Christmas. Do come inside where it is warmer.”
At least, she thought as she entered the drawing room and set about pouring the tea, she did not have to face the task of making strangers comfortable with one another. With a few exceptions everyone seemed to know everyone else well enough—as was to be expected of people of theton. It was she who was the peculiar one, though she had been happy enough, especially at first, to withdraw from society after her marriage. And she had been ready enough to believe that the world of polite society was without merit, even wicked.
But there was something strangely seductive about this gathering of smiling, chattering people. Everyone looked amiable and harmless enough. And there was something delightful about looking around and seeing people dressed colorfully and fashionably. Perhaps she had been wrong....
She listened to a snippet of conversation during a few moments while she was alone at the tea tray. It involved Margaret and three gentlemen. One of them was Mr. Ralph Milchip. The other two must be the gentlemen who had arrived while Christina was in the nursery. She remembered one of them by sight and thought he must be Viscount Luttrell. At least his name was on the list of guests, yet she could not remember having been presented to him.
“What I want to know, Lady Margaret,” the third young gentleman was saying, “is why we have never yet seen you in London. It is a crime pure and simple, if you were to ask me.”
“Perhaps, sir,” Margaret replied, sounding downright coquettish, “because I have been too busy and too merry in the country to be able to spare a moment for London. Have I missed something of importance by not going there?”
Gilbert would have been horrified. The tone of the conversation was clearly flirtatious. Christina merely smiled to herself.Good for you, Meg, she said silently.
“One is made to think of flowers blooming unseen in deserts,” Mr. Milchip said.
“Except that the countryside is no desert, sir,” Margaret retorted.
“Have you missed something of importance, Lady Margaret?” the gentleman who was probably Viscount Luttrell said, his voice languid. He had a quizzing glass in his hand, Christina noticed, though he had not raised it all the way to his eye. “Certainly you have. You have missed me.”
Margaret’s delighted laughter mingled with the deeper guffaws of his companions.
“How absurd, my lord,” she said.
It was harmless stuff, Christina thought. Surely it was all harmless. And then she looked up to find the viscount turning around, his quizzing glass all the way to his eye now, and looking directly at her.
“Ah,” he said, “I have just realized that I am parched. And that I must be in the presence of the countess, for whose absence on the terrace earlier Wanstead apologized most profusely.”
Christina inclined her head and lifted the teapot to pour him a cup. “I am,” she said.
He made her a formal and elegant bow. “Harry Vane, Viscount Luttrell, very much at your service, my lady,” he said.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” she said. Yes, definitely, he too had been one of Gerard’s friends.
Mr. Frederick Cannadine, younger brother of the married John Cannadine, also introduced himself and accepted a cup of tea while Mr. Milchip continued to converse with Margaret.
Perhaps not quite so harmless after all, Christina was thinking. For a few moments Viscount Luttrell had surveyed her through his quizzing glass. In those few moments she had felt as if all her clothes were being expertly stripped away from her body. And in his lazy eyes after he had lowered his glass and made his bow and presented himself she read a deep, knowing appreciation.
She felt a thrill of very feminine gratification. And then she despised her own pleasure.
Chapter 7
AN hour or more passed before the guests began to drift off back to their rooms to rest before getting ready for dinner, or to supervise the unpacking of their luggage, or to write a letter or two. It was dizzyingly pleasant, the earl found, despite his earlier misgivings, to see Thornwood filled with cheerful, chattering people, to know that they would all be there over Christmas. A house party had been an inspired idea by whoever it was who had first thought of it.
He had amused himself while mingling with his guests and making sure that they were all well supplied with tea and dainties in trying to imagine one of the young ladies present as his countess, as his hostess for any future entertainment of this sort. There were only two real possibilities, of course, since he had already ruled out Margaret. He would definitely feel more comfortable with Jeannette as his wife, he thought as he watched her conversing and laughing with people she had not met until today. And yet perhaps Lizzie Gaynor would fit more naturally into the role of countess—if he were to stay in England. If he went back to Canada, of course ...
If?
He tried not to let his imaginings distract him. He certainly was not going to make anyone an impulsive offer. He was going to take his time deciding—whom to ask, and whether to ask anyone at all. One thing was clear: he was going to have to be careful. Educated guesses must have been made about the motives of a bachelor earl in hosting a Christmas house party at which several of the guests were unattached young ladies.
