“No, everything is well. I just received a letter from my sister.”
A blossoming smile replaced the worry on her face. “How is Lady Hamdon?”
“Doing well. She has accepted my invitation to visit for Christmastide.”
Mrs. Gibbons clapped her hands together and held them to her chest. “Oh, that is wonderful. When can we expect them?”
“Monday next. But that is not all. She is bringing guests.”
Her eyes widened. Alan smiled. He loved bringing joy to this dear woman.
“Since I am not at all knowledgeable in this area, I shall leave the planning to you.”
He didn’t think her smile could grow any bigger, but it did. “Oh, thank you! To have dear Miss Emma back is treat enough, but this? How many can I expect?”
“There will be four besides Lord and Lady Hamdon and their son. You can also expect at least two additional maids and two valets, along with Master George’s nurse.”
Mrs. Gibbons pulled a small writing pad out of her pocket and began scribbling. “And how long?”
He gave the pertinent details, imagining her mind spinning with ideas as his housekeeper jotted them down. It was a relief. He didn’t know the first thing about hosting guests. In the two years since he’d taken control over Engalworth he’d not even thought to invite anyone, spending a good deal of his time elsewhere. The only visitors they’d had were his sister and her husband.
A clack sounded on the table as Mrs. Gibbons set down her pencil. “Are there any dishes you wish to have in particular?”
“As long as we have minced meat and pudding somewhere on the menu, especially buttered shortbread pudding, I will be a happy man. Truly, Mrs. Gibbons, I want you to think of this as your project. I completely trust your abilities.”
She smiled. “This season will be festive indeed. I will make certain of it.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder as he rose. “I have no doubt.”
Nervous energy drove him out of doors into the chill of December. The garden was not much to look at, the plants brown and wilted, but he continued his way along the path until he found the stone bench. Instead of sitting, he propped a foot on it and stared out at the bare grove in the distance.
Grace was coming to Engalworth. He could not believe his luck… and misfortune. He’d have two glorious weeks until his sister dragged the poor woman off to the despicable men of the Ton. Oh, he knew they weren’t all bad, but none were good enough for Grace’s beauty and amiable disposition. In truth, neither was he.
She deserved someone more suited to her sweet nature. A man who hadn’t defied his father and ran off to war out of spite. One who could sleep at night without waking in a cold sweat.
A hare darted across the meadow that separated the garden from the grove. In a trice, Alan had his knife removed from his boot and ready to throw. Then he shook his head. It was just a rabbit. There was no threat.
Two years. It had been over two years since he’d returned from war and still he jumped at every unexpected movement.
Re-sheathing the knife, he dropped his foot to the ground. Just another reason he was not the right match for Grace. If only he could convince his heart of what his head already knew.
Chapter 2
Grace covertly rolled her eyes as her younger sister flung herself onto the bed, splaying herself over half the clothes Grace had laid out to be packed.
“Can you believe it?” Prudence sighed. “A whole fortnight in a baron’s home. I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world to be able to celebrate Christmasandmy birthday in such luxury.”
A begrudging smile creased Grace’s lips. They were exceedingly lucky—or blessed. She liked to think it was the latter. One year ago, they’d been facing utter ruin and now she’d be taking a London season. It seemed too fantastical to be mere coincidence. And to spend two whole weeks with Lord Gladsby… she sighed.
Prudence echoed her sigh loudly. “I concur.”
“With what?”
“Don’t pretend innocence. I know you find Lord Gladsby as dreamy as the rest of the female population, with those snowy blue eyes and that firm square jaw. And those shoulders.”
“Prudence.”
“What? At least I wasn’t mentioning how well his britches fit.”
