A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5) Page 4

  She sniffled but said nothing as she dabbed at her eyes.

  Now was his chance to give her a full explanation. “I feel a duty to look after you, Eloise. We are friends, after all.”

  “And that makes it acceptable for you to talk to me that way?”

  “I believe that friends help one another, and that is what I was trying to do.”

  “By telling me I look like a harlot?”

  “That is not what I said!” he protested, his irritation growing. “But this”—he waved toward her dress—“this is not you, Eloise, and I am sure a girl as good as you are would not want to give the impression you give in that dress. You are not a harlot, nor do you look like one, but you do send . . . signals to a man when you look as you do tonight.”

  She lifted her chin and stood up straighter, necessitating Neville’s sudden interest in the bookshelf to his left. She really had no idea the effect she could have. He had no idea the effect she could have until now, and the idea of other men being similarly affected was unthinkable. “How do you know that I don’t know exactly what impression I am making?” she asked.

  “Because if you knew, you would not wear a dress like this.” That didn’t sound right, and he let out a breath while running his fingers through his hair. “You do not want men to look at you with . . . desire, Eloise, and a dress like this, well, it strikes something in a man that can be intense, I suppose is the right word.”

  She put a hand on her hip, and he looked away again, swallowed, and reminded himself that this was Eloise. He was acting like a big brother. So why was he so uncomfortable? “Does seeing me in this dress make you desire me, Neville? When you look at me, do you feel some intense feeling that perhaps you do not know how to handle?”

  Heat crept up his neck and face without any permission on his part, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I was speaking on the behalf of other men, Eloise.”

  Some pained expression crossed her face before she repaired it a moment later, shutting him out. “I see,” she said. “You are above such base reactions, I suppose.”

  He nodded but looked at the toe of his boot.

  “And are you giving this same advice to all the other young women similarly arrayed this evening?”

  “No one is dressed like you are tonight, Eloise.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “No,” he said with confidence, reviewing the other women in his mind. It was not difficult to compare her against the twenty or so debutantes in the ballroom. None of them—not one—looked like she did. She shone like a candle on a dark night or the first evening star. Gracious, he hadn’t taken a second look at any one of the other girls yet. He was unable to keep his eyes off of Eloise. “They are all dressed appropriately, Eloise. Their bodices are higher, their dresses not so tight, and their color choices are far less bold.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he hurried to explain himself more clearly—why was this not working? He was only trying to help her, and she was tangling him up in his own words. “We have been friends for a long time, Eloise, and I am sorry that I’ve hurt your feelings, but I am simply looking out for your well-being. It is not that you don’t look beautiful—you look absolutely radiant—but as your friend, I feel it important that you understand how dangerous that can be.”

  “Because men might desire me?” Eloise said. “And you do not want other men to desire me.”

  Finally, she was beginning to understand. “Exactly.”

  “But you do not desire me?”

  “R-right,” he said. Why did he sense he’d just walked into a trap?

  She took a step toward him, and the heat that had begun to fade from his neck increased again. When she spoke, her voice was lower, and it did odd things to his appendages. “I am old enough to marry, Neville, and I fully expect that the man I marry will desire me. Since you are so very unaffected, I would ask that you give me the margin I need to make progress toward a match.”

  Good grief. His mouth went dry as she continued to walk toward him. “I-I am only trying to help,” he stammered, willing her to stop coming closer. “L-like a b-big brother would do for his little sister.” Even as he said the words he knew that his confusing feelings of this night were not nearly as brotherly as he would like to pretend them to be.

  She stopped, only a foot or two away from him. That fire in the grate was far too hot! “I have a big brother, Neville.” Her eyes were still pink from the crying he’d interrupted, and yet she was entirely self-possessed at this moment. “And a ball to attend—including a waltz with Mr. Burke. If you’ll excuse me.”

  She stepped around him, leaving him with a scent of her perfume—which was as equally inappropriate as her dress. Had she no shame at all? The door closed, and still he did not move. What just happened? he asked himself. He wanted to believe he’d helped Eloise understand that he was only trying to help, and yet he was pretty sure that wasn’t the case at all.

  Her words echoed in his mind: “I fully expect that the man I marry will desire me.”

  Neville hated this fictitious husband already.

  Chapter Eight

  Eloise made sure to enter a different door than she’d escaped through a few minutes earlier, and then she ignored sympathetic looks directed her way. She’d have liked a few more minutes of recovery before returning—gracious, she’d have liked to run for home—but if she did, Neville would think she was reacting to his words. She would not allow that to happen, despite all her hopes for this evening having come to naught. She would mourn that later, too. She made her way to Catherine, but was claimed for a reel almost immediately. She pasted a smile on her face and reviewed in her mind what had happened with Neville, while executing the steps of the dance. The movements seemed to settle her thoughts, sift and separate them until the hurt and embarrassment faded enough to give her a clearer view. Why was he so concerned? Though offensive and harsh, he was sincere in his pressings and felt strongly enough to confront her. Was it protectiveness, as he claimed, or something else?

  Neville was standing at the side of the room with a glass of wine in his hand as the dance came to a close, and she made sure to lift her chin a bit higher and smile a bit wider at her partner. She would not give Neville the satisfaction of thinking she was heeding his offensive warnings. An inspection of the other guests while she danced proved that she was indeed no more “revealed” than any other woman here—even more proper than some.

  When her partner returned her to the edge of the dance floor, Mr. Burke was waiting to claim his waltz. She glanced at Neville only long enough to see that he was watching them, his expression dour. The glowering set of his eyebrows only strengthened her resolve to look unaffected.

  Eloise thanked her former partner before turning to Mr. Burke and placing her hand in his so that he could lead her to the floor—how she wished she could look at him and see Neville’s reaction at the same time. Once near the center of the floor, she turned to face Mr. Burke and put her hand on his shoulder while he put his hand on her waist. She startled a bit when he stepped closer, bringing the space between them to almost nothing. His hand at her waist tightened.

  “You look positively breathtaking tonight, Eloise,” he said as they took their first steps in tandem. Her skirts made a slight rushing sound as they swayed back and forth with the tempo of the music.

  “Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

  “No, thank you,” Mr. Burke said. “I have not had such a visual feast since I don’t know when.”

  Eloise swallowed and looked away from what seemed almost a leering expression. It was all she could do to keep Neville’s reprimanding voice out of her head. She told herself that she was simply unused to such direct attention, and, as she had already confirmed twice now, she was equal to every other woman here, other than those who were putting themselves on display. If both Neville and Mr. Burke felt she was being too bold, however, she would have a difficult time justifying herself otherwise.

  “Have you enjoyed the evening s
o far?” she asked, forcing her tone to be bright. “I’m sure a country ball is rather simple entertainment for a man like yourself who is so well traveled.”

  “I will admit I thought it might be rather dull,” Mr. Burke said, flawlessly executing a turn. “But perhaps I have underestimated the charms the country has to offer, after all. I was considering going back to London for Christmas, but perhaps I will stay a bit longer. Would you like that, Eloise?” The hand at her waist moved half an inch lower toward her hip.

  She kept her smile pasted in place. “That certainly isn’t my decision to make, Mr. Burke.”

  “If I did stay, would you go riding with me? Tomorrow, perhaps? Just the two of us.”

  “Oh, well . . .” She had no interest in being alone with Mr. Burke, but then they reached the side of the room where Neville was glowering at them. She snapped her eyes back to Mr. Burke. “I would love to go for a ride,” she said—wishing Neville could overhear but not sure that he could. “I have a wool riding habit and a fur hat that would be perfect in this weather.”

  “Excellent,” Mr. Burke said, allowing his eyes to move down to her chest and then back to her face where her cheeks were aflame. Suddenly, some portion of Neville’s warning made sense.

  “I would hate to catch a chill this close to the holidays,” Eloise said, deciding to fill the rest of the dance with chatter. “There is ever so much to be done, you know. There are evergreen boughs to gather, to say nothing of the holly and the—”

  “Mistletoe?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Perhaps we might find some tomorrow on our ride.”

  “Oh, well . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  “Morning,” Burke said when he joined Neville in the breakfast room the next day. Neville had not slept well, which did nothing to improve his mood from the night before.

  “Good morning,” Neville said as evenly as he could manage. He kept his eyes trained on the paper in front of him while Burke prepared himself a plate from the sideboard. Neville tried to think of something other than Eloise in Burke’s arms as they waltzed across the floor, but seeing as how he’d been unsuccessful in the hours they’d spent apart, he was less successful than ever now that the man was in his presence again.

  Overnight, Neville’s world had shifted, and he had not yet made sense of the new world in front of him. What he wouldn’t give for a few days of his own company where he might stand a chance of sorting things out. As long as Burke was here as Neville’s guest and constant companion, Neville saw no hope of coming to terms with his feelings toward Eloise.

  Around two o’clock that morning, Neville had realized he was jealous of Burke. Neville wasn’t sure he’d ever felt such an emotion but acknowledged now that he felt something for Eloise he did not want another man to feel. He had justified himself as being protective last night, as a friend, but staring at the dark ceiling of his room, with the chill of night taking over the air around him bit by bit, he could not convince himself of such noble intent.

  Just Eloise was not just Eloise anymore.

  While the red dress may have shocked him into admitting it, he could look over the last weeks and see that her presence was a big portion of why he felt so content here in Hemberg. She made him feel welcome, encouraged his efforts toward estate improvement, and laughed at his stories. She was an excellent conversationalist and a trusted confidante. She built him up in every way a man wants to be built up. Yet it wasn’t until last night that he realized the full potential of the way he felt in her company. Until last night, he had not realized how his affections had been growing all along, and now his physical attraction had come to match his feelings.

  “You do have a fine cook, Franklin.”

  Neville looked up at Burke taking a seat at the other side of the table and felt frustration building in his chest again. Burke had already made these realizations about Eloise. Without knowing her anywhere near as well as Neville did, he’d seen her potential and gone after it last night, while Neville had offended and embarrassed her in his bumbling attempts to protect her from his dissolute friend.

  There was no doubt in Neville’s mind that his feelings were more valid than whatever Burke’s might be—but was that enough? His feelings were only a portion of this equation with him and Burke and Eloise, and he had made a mess of his position last night.

  The solution in his mind was simple: take out one of the players of this puzzle. A lifetime of friendship with Eloise gave him confidence he could repair the damage he’d done, but not if Burke remained here and pressed his advantage.

  Advantage? Was that what Neville believed, that Burke already had the upper hand? The realization sparked a new level of urgency. Had Eloise been more attentive to Burke than Neville had noticed? Was it fair for Neville to attempt to counter her interest in another man?

  “How long do you think you might stay?” Neville asked, trying to keep his tone unassuming. “You’d mentioned yesterday that the country was wearing thin on you. Perhaps you’d like to move on, as you suggested.”

  Burke leveled a look at Neville. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

  Neville looked at his paper and smoothed the crease. “Not at all. Just curious.”

  “Ah, yes, curious.” Burke began cutting his ham. “I daresay the impression of your quaint village has improved upon me since last night. I think I will stay a bit longer.”

  Neville could think of nothing to say that would not betray his feelings, so he focused on an article about a naval ship returning to Bristol last week.

  “In fact,” Burke continued, “I’ve asked Eloise to ride with me today and she’s accepted.”

  Neville lifted his face slowly. “It is too cold for a lady to go riding.”

  Burke grinned. “She did not think so when she accepted my invitation, though it’s unfortunate she shall have to be so bundled up against the chill.”

  Neville took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What are you about, Burke?” His voice was dark and ragged, finally showing the emotion he felt. “I have told you that Eloise is not a girl to be trifled with, and I will ask you to stand down from this course to preserve her feelings.”

  Burke continued to smile, but a hardness entered his expression all the same. “Why do you continue to assume I am trifling?”

  “Because it is the only thing you know how to do.”

  “Well, then, it’s about time I learned additional skills, is it not?” He forked a piece of ham and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly as he watched Neville process his words.

  “So, your intentions are honorable.”

  Burke winked and turned back to his plate.

  Neville was gathering a more direct question about Burke’s expectations when his father came in, effectively putting an end to this line of inquiry.

  “Ah, good morning, gentlemen,” his father said as he moved to the sideboard, turning his back upon the younger men. “I wondered if you would be up so early. Jessop said it was quite late when you returned from the Websters’ ball. I hope your ability to rise so early is not proof against the Websters’ ball having been a successful evening.”

  “Oh, it was a very successful evening,” Burke said, lifting his eyebrows at Neville, whose thoughts were swirling again. Burke speared another bite of ham. “Very successful, indeed.”

  Chapter Ten

  Eloise was already saddled on her speckled gray mare, Frost—aptly named for today’s

  outing—when Mr. Burke arrived on a chestnut-colored gelding. Eloise wore wool stockings, two wool petticoats, a coat, fur-lined gloves, a fur cap, and a scarf. Even still, her nose was frozen within a quarter mile of the house, and she wondered why she had agreed to this ride and why he had requested it. Why not tea in the parlor?

  Eloise convinced herself that she was glad to have accepted the invitation as they moved farther from her house, but she didn’t quite believe it. Thankfully, Mr. Burke was an easy man to converse with, and they spoke of his family and the trip to America h
e’d made with Neville. Eloise had heard a good many tales about their travels these last weeks but never tired of the topic. Such adventure in a wild and primitive land. Mr. Burke told a story Eloise hadn’t heard before about Neville having his bags stolen from a posting house where they had stayed the night.

  “What did he do?” Eloise asked, imaging how frightening it would be to have no possessions at all. Poor Neville.

  “We bought a suit off a banker that kept him presentable until we got back to New York,” Mr. Burke said. “The pants were two inches two short and the shoulders too wide, which made Franklin look ridiculous, but he still outshone every other man there. You’ve never seen such a place, Eloise. I can’t imagine why any of them left our fair land or why they fought so hard to be independent from us—they’re a bunch of ruffians with a gun on each hip and hardly a tailor to be found.”

  A gun on each hip? How barbaric. “What was your favorite place you visited?” Eloise asked.

  “Nantucket, Massachusetts,” Mr. Burke said. “An island just off the coast—we spent a good deal of that first summer there. Franklin didn’t care for it as much as I did, though. He preferred to see the villages and frontiers—talked to a great deal of farmers.”

  “Farmers?” Eloise said, preferring the conversation when it turned to Neville. She was still angry with him, but interested in everything about him now that the chasm between them felt too wide to cross. Mr. Burke’s insight might be the best she could hope for.

  “He found it fascinating that so much of the farmland had been recently converted from forest and wanted to better understand how they prepared the land. If I had a shilling for every fence line he walked . . .” He paused and shook his head dramatically.

  “And did he learn some things that will assist the estate?”

  Mr. Burke shrugged. “I suppose. I forbade him to talk of agriculture to me after the first month. Boring stuff, really. Rotation, wheat strains, manures.” He gave her a look and raised an eyebrow. “I warn you never to bring up the subject with him—you’ll rue the day if you do.”