The house belonged to Wren, but she had offered it to Colin back in the spring when she discovered that he lived in London, even during the summer, when most of thetondeserted it for their country homes. He had wanted to purchase it from her, but she had insisted that he be her guest there for a year, at which time he would be able to make a more informed decision.
“I am inclined to say yes,” he said. “But I am not sure it would be the right thing to do.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows.
“No,” he said, taking the empty cup from her hands. “I am going to have to think about it.”
It would be easy to hide there forever, in a house that was just the right size for him, with Wren and Alexander close by and friendly neighbors all about. Buthidewas the key word. He was Baron Hodges. He was head of his family. He had duties and responsibilities. If Justin, his elder brother, had not died, he would be free to hide to his heart’s content. Indeed, there would be nothing to hide from. But Justin had died, and three years later so had their father. Colin had been left with a mother and three sisters—and the title and all that came with it.
“I will be delighted to visit with Alex and Wren,” Elizabeth said. “So will my mother, I know.”
There did not seem to be anything else to say. Had she really forgiven him? Not been disgusted? Was she really willing to step inside his own home? Had he reallykissedher? Colin looked down into his cup and swirled the thick residue of chocolate at the bottom of it. He was not sure he could forgive himself. Not forwantingher anyway. Good God!
Fortunately Alexander suggested at that moment that they return to the house to warm up properly, and Elizabeth moved away to walk with Abigail and Anna. Colin hung back a few moments to return with Camille and Harry, who was carrying Sarah.
She was so terribly beautiful. Elizabeth, that was.
Four
The perfect Christmas Day concluded with a light evening meal, charades, a few card games, and singing about the pianoforte. No one was late to bed. It had been a busy day, much of it spent outdoors, and they all admitted to being tired.
“If you do not take care, Alexander,” Louise, the Dowager Duchess of Netherby, warned, “you will be starting a family tradition and be stuck with us all every year.”
“It is our fondest hope that that is exactly what will happen,” he said. “Is it not, Wren?”
“Indeed it is,” she agreed. “We can almost certainly promise a somewhat less shabby house by next year, Cousin Louise. I am not so sure about the snow, though. But there is still tomorrow to look forward to—a somewhat more relaxed day, perhaps, with the neighborhood party coming in the evening. If people can get here, that is.”
“The carolers came last night,” Thomas, Lord Molenor, reminded her. “Why not everyone else tomorrow?”
“We cannot promise a wedding every year either,” Wren added, smiling at Viola and Marcel.
It had been a very nearly perfect Christmas Day, Elizabeth agreed as she climbed the stairs with her mother and Mrs. Kingsley. It really had been, she assured herself after she had bidden them a good night and shut the door of her room firmly behind her.
Very nearly perfect.
Except that she was quite unable to forget the dreadful embarrassment of the afternoon. She had had to call upon all her inner resources for the rest of the day to be her usual cheerful, sensible self. Her reaction was very silly, for it wasChristmasand they had beensleddingand laughing after being tipped into a snowbank. It was really not surprising that they had ended up kissing each other.
Was it?
The last man to kiss her, apart from a few familial pecks on the cheek, was Desmond, and that had been so many years ago she could not say precisely when it had been. But, goodness, he had been dead for six years, and she had left him a year before that. She was thirty-five years old, and this afternoon she had kissed a gorgeous boy. No, she was exaggerating, even belittling him. He was not a boy. He was twenty-six years old, very definitely a man. But hewasgorgeous. And she had kissed him just as much as he had kissed her. She hoped not more. Oh, surely she had not done anything to provoke that kiss. How humiliating if she had—or if he thought she had.
She set her candle down on the dresser, avoided her image in the glass, and was very thankful that she had given her maid the afternoon and evening off. It was a relief to be alone at last.
She had reacted to that kiss with sexual awareness. She had wanted him as she had not wanted any man since Desmond in the early years of their marriage. Certainly she had never felt it with Sir Geoffrey Codaire, though she had almost made up her mind to marry him if he asked her again in the spring.
The rest of her day had been fairly ruined. She had kept her distance from Colin, as far as that was possible in a family gathering and without being too obvious about it. But she had watched him covertly. He had been reserved and a bit shy yesterday. Today he had been at ease and enjoying himself. He had thrown himself with open enthusiasm into the charades. He had sung with everyone else, standing beside the pianoforte and watching Cousin Mildred play. He had kissed Mary Kingsley under the kissing bough when they found themselves beneath it at the same moment—and neither had seemed consumed by embarrassment or guilt. Indeed, they had smiled and laughed and he had even executed a mock bow as family members applauded and whistled.
He had fair hair that was thick and wavy and always slightly unruly even when it had obviously been brushed recently. He had blue eyes and white teeth, which were ever so slightly crooked at the front on top—an imperfection that somehow only enhanced his attractiveness. He was tall and slender and lithe, and…Oh, andyoung.
Elizabeth shivered as she cast aside her shawl and dress and then her stockings and undergarments and pulled on her nightgown before eyeing the water in the jug beside the washstand with some misgiving. The water would, of course, be cold. She was tempted to go to bed with an unwashed face, but finally found the courage to wash both it and her neck as well as her hands and arms to the elbows. She dried herself briskly and huddled inside her dressing gown.
The truth was that she had allowed herself to become a little infatuated with Colin Handrich, Lord Hodges, and it just would not do. Good heavens, she was very close to being middle-aged. Some would say there was nocloseabout it. How pathetic, not to mention horrifying, it would be if anyone guessed. Well, no one would guess because she would be more herself tomorrow.
She carried the candle to the small table beside her bed, slid reluctantly out of her dressing gown, and got into bed after snuffing the candle. She made a cocoon of the blankets, pulling them up about her ears while she warmed up.
Sleep eluded her.
•••
