A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5) Read online

  “I will never be glad of anything that hurts Eloise,” Neville said, steering around Burke’s determination of Neville’s feelings. Designs was not the right word to explain his interest, but the veil of ignorance had been removed from his eyes since that conversation with Burke in the pub—was it only yesterday?

  Burke strode from the room without responding, and Neville stayed where he was, growing roots into the carpet as he stared into the fire. How quickly things had become complicated.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mama cocked her head to the side and continued to stare at Eloise with concern. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” Eloise said, looking up from where she was sorting her yarns. She had separated and arranged them by type—silk, flax, cotton, or wool—and then arranged them by color in the lovely sectioned wooden box her father had given her for her birthday six years ago. Until this week, the box had sat in the back of her wardrobe waiting for her to run out of anything else to do. What luck she finally had. It would be nice to have the colors organized.

  She had also finished the cushion she’d been working on for six months; made up Christmas gifts for the servants; sorted all her clothing and shoes so that she would have a nice collection ready for Boxing Day four days hence; caught up on her correspondence, poetry reading, drawing, and painting; and rearranged all the furniture in her bedchamber with the help of an accommodating kitchen maid.

  Mama continued to watch her daughter, as though at any moment Eloise would drop this front and confess what was on her mind. Five seconds passed in silence, then Eloise coughed into her hand, apparently convincing Mama that she was too ill to travel. Eloise moved the silk turquoise skein one space to the left to make room for the cerulean. This arranging of threads was very detailed work. Mama put down her traveling bag and sat. “I think I should stay. We can both go after the holiday.”

  “No, Mama.” Eloise shook her head. “I am not up to so much commotion for a few more days, and there is always greater celebration at twelfth night that I would like to rest toward. Please let me stay here through Christmas. I will be fine. You act as though I have never been home alone.”

  “You have never been home alone following a week-long illness,” Mama pointed out. “What if your fever returns?”

  “The fever lasted all of one evening, and it has been five days since. If my coughing should get worse, I will send for you.” Eloise held her mother’s eyes. “Go to Charlotte. She wants and needs you, and I know you want to see your new granddaughter. I shall join you in a few days’ time, rested and prepared to enjoy the holiday to its fullest.”

  She watched the war being waged in her mother’s eyes. Charlotte lived some fifteen miles away and had had her first child four days ago. If not for Eloise having been ill, Mama would have flown to her daughter and newest grandchild in a matter of hours, not days. “Perhaps your father shall stay, then.”

  “And do what?” Eloise said. “Pace the windows? He is as eager as you are. I shall join you when I know I am recovered and will not bring anything down upon a newborn child.”

  It took a bit more convincing, but finally Mama was worn through. She planted a kiss on Eloise’s forehead, repeated every warning, and then took her leave. Eloise remained in the drawing room, which was an improvement over her bedroom where she’d spent the first part of the week, but not much.

  She had not gone to any of the Christmas dinner parties hosted by their friends and refused visitors based on somewhat exaggerated claims of lingering illness. Not that she hadn’t been ill following the objectionable ride with Mr. Burke—she had—but it was convenient to use the illness as an excuse to take some time to herself. If all the time in her own company had been more enjoyable, she would not even question her choice, but it had been a miserable week—outside of how productive she’d been with her projects—and she was no closer to making a decision on how to move forward than she’d been when she’d first blessed the fever that beset her.

  Oh, that she had never wanted for more than friendship with Neville. She was the greedy dog in the fable who thought she’d seen a bigger prize and therefore lost the one she already possessed. Gluttonous. Foolish. Regretful.

  She knew Mr. Burke had left the village—Mama had learned that tidbit of gossip from Lady Harrison who called three days after their ride—and Eloise was grateful. But no one had shared any news of Neville, and she didn’t dare ask. She had canceled the tea to discuss the contents of Lila’s educational letters, so there was no vehicle for gossip outside of her mother, who did not know how to fish for information about Neville the way Eloise had become quite adept at doing. Perhaps that was for the best, however. After all, she was nothing but the object of a wager. A piece in a game.

  He’d been oddly protective of her at the Christmas ball.

  But that could simply have been an attempt at winning.

  He had warned her off of Mr. Burke.

  But he made no attempt of his own to win the wager.

  What would it have been like if Neville had claimed the kiss? Would it have been as harsh and lacking as Mr. Burke’s had been? Probably—it was only a game after all.

  Eloise let out a sigh and raised her hands to her temples. “Enough!” she said to no one but the fire. It was not as though any of these thoughts were new ones. They had been cycling through her mind all week and led her to no new destinations of thought. She was as miserable as ever.

  She finished organizing her threads, then read part of a Scott novel, then went to her room. She took down her hair in front of her mirror and put it up again—inspecting the arrangement from side to side—and then wondered how anyone did their own hair in any presentable way and took it down again. She was brushing out her hair when she looked out the window and saw a horse and rider coming up the lane. She leaned forward and then walked quickly backward from the window when she realized it was Neville on that horse. What was he doing here?

  She ran for the bell and pulled. When a chambermaid peeked in, Eloise explained that she needed to dress and have her hair done as quickly as possible. Without Mama’s maid, it was up to the downstairs staff to make her presentable. The chambermaid nodded and disappeared while Eloise began rifling through her dresses. When she saw the red dress, she scowled at it and continued through her wardrobe.

  A few days after her ride with Mr. Burke, Neville had written her a card—as had a handful of her other friends—that wished her well and offered assistance should she need anything. Every other letter she received was just like it, and so Eloise had not allowed herself to read it over and over again in search of some hidden affection. Her conclusion was that he’d sent the note because he wanted their friendship to continue. She was glad of that, even if she had no idea how they might ever return to the comfortable place they’d once enjoyed.

  A quarter of an hour after seeing him on the lane, Eloise took a breath and let herself into the drawing room. Neville rose to his feet while her heart flipped and turned in her chest. She must keep herself closed to his charm! You were a pawn in his game, she reminded herself, but seeing him made it difficult to keep hold of such reminders. She still ached to matter to him, despite knowing that she was just one more girl—the object of a wager. That he’d played such a game with any girl sat like a rock in her stomach; to know she was nothing more than any of them was a second stone.

  “Good afternoon, Eloise,” he said, bowing slightly. He did not put out his hand to take hers like he would have before. How she hated this strangeness, and yet she needed it to continue until she no longer thought of him with a tremble nor looked upon him with her pulse speeding up.

  “Good afternoon, Neville,” she said as she made her way to the settee opposite the chair he’d been sitting in. He returned to his seat. “I’m afraid my parents are gone for the holiday and therefore aren’t here to receive.”

  “So I heard. I believe congratulations are in order—you are an aunt?”

  He’d known she would be home alon
e and still came? As a family friend, he had visited her alone before, but it had never felt like this. She could not let him see a reaction; she could not afford to interpret the reaction herself. “As the youngest of five—all of them well engaged in the commandment of replenishing the earth—I have little originality of feeling over this role, but thank you. New life is always worthy of celebration, and as this is Charlotte’s first child, it is an exciting event.”

  He smiled. She smiled back but found it difficult to hold his eyes and so turned her attention to smoothing the skirt of the lavender day dress she’d chosen for his visit. Lila had always said Eloise looked exceptional in lavender, but she felt ridiculous for thinking that would matter now.

  Neville cleared his throat. “I brought a jar of molasses from America for your family—a Christmas gift.” He picked up a jar she hadn’t noticed from next to his chair and handed it to her.

  “Molasses?” she said as she took the item and turned it in her hands. The substance inside looked like honey but was black as coal.

  “Similar to what we call black treacle here in England, only thicker, sweeter, and stronger in flavor. They have it in great quantities in America, and I thought you might enjoy the newness of it. Tell your cook it’s exceptional in ginger cookies or cakes. She has always done a remarkable job with such things, and I thought of her—and you—when I had molasses cookies for the first time.”

  He thought of me in America?

  Keep your heart closed!

  “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift,” she said, genuinely touched. “I believe my mother had some spiced bread taken around from our family to yours before leaving town.”

  “Yes, it was delicious.”

  Eloise felt a tickle in her throat and coughed into her handkerchief as delicately as possible.

  “How are you feeling? Did you receive my note?”

  Eloise nodded. “I did, thank you. I am behind in my replies, for which I apologize.” In truth, she had not planned to reply. She’d felt he’d sent the note as an olive branch that she had no choice but to accept. “I’m feeling much better; it is only a lingering cough that now besets me. That’s why I did not go with my parents. I want to be full recovered before I meet my new niece.”

  “Have you no plans for Christmas, then?”

  “No,” Eloise said. “I will save my strength and celebrate twelfth night at Charlotte’s.” And she had no interest in being social right now. “Have you holiday plans?”

  “Aunt Hannah and her family are coming tomorrow and staying for the fortnight. She’s already informed Father and me that we shall be celebrating Christmas in all its splendor. Since Lila was always the one to head up such celebrations, we are indebted to her.”

  “Your Aunt Hannah is lovely,” Eloise said, remembering the many times the family had visited Hemberg over the years. Eloise knew Aunt Hannah nearly as well as she knew her own aunts. “And it will be lovely for you and your father to have family around for the holiday.”

  “I suppose,” Neville said with a smile. “With six children and the eldest not yet fourteen, it will be loud if nothing else.”

  Eloise smiled. They lapsed into silence until finally Neville cleared his throat rather pointedly. Eloise prepared herself for even more discomfort. “Eloise, I tried to find a way to say it in the letter but could not get the right words. I cannot stop thinking about the Websters’ ball. I—”

  “It is all right,” she cut in, unprepared to face this topic. “Let us leave it there.”

  “I was inappropriate and unfair with what I said to you that night.”

  She continued to stare at the jar in her hand, turning it so that the substance rolled slowly back and forth. “It is all right, Neville.” But emotion was rising up, and her anxiety was increasing. Next would be the remembered embarrassment. The wager. A prize he did not claim himself.

  “I hate to know that I’ve damaged our friendship,” Neville said. “That was not my intent, and as I have pondered on that night, I’ve realized—”

  “It was a game,” Eloise cut, gathering all her courage and looking up at him. “I understand. We are still friends, Neville. Let us leave it at that.”

  Neville pulled his eyebrows together. “A game?”

  “The wager?” she said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “I am only one of many players. I understand.” Except she continued to hold it against him. “But it will be much harder to forget it ever happened if we are to discuss it.”

  Neville’s mouth fell open. “Burke told you it was a wager,” he said in a breath.

  Until that moment, Eloise hadn’t realized that some part of her held out hope that Burke had been lying, yet Neville now confirmed that he had not. She felt small and used all over again.

  Neville moved forward in his chair, “Eloise, I never—”

  “I understand Mr. Burke has left Hemberg,” she said in an attempt to fill the air with something other than the topic of the wager. “I assume he’s not coming back.” She looked at the jar as an excuse not to look at him. Neville had carried this across the ocean for her. How could he be so thoughtful and thoughtless at the same time?

  “You wish he were coming back?”

  “No, of course not. It was all a game. I know that.” Why would you put me into such a game? she screamed in her mind. And why did you not claim the prize first? You had ample opportunity to do so!

  Saying such things out loud was ridiculous, however, especially since at least some measure of her preparation for the Websters’ ball had been to present herself as that very prize she was embarrassed to have unwittingly become. At least to Mr. Burke. The confusing thoughts rattled in her mind until she quickly stood, prompting Neville to do the same. She gathered all her courage and met his eye with a polite smile and a closed heart, though her feelings pressed and clawed to be released.

  “Thank you for the gift. Happy Christmas, Neville.” She turned toward the door.

  “Come to dinner tomorrow night,” he said in a great hurry of words, causing her to stop and turn back to face him. “We’ll be having a Christmas dinner, of course, and I would like you to come.”

  There was a rashness in his offer that made it feel pitied. “I have not been well, Neville. I do not think it wise for me to go out or risk infecting others.”

  “We are a hearty lot,” he said in that same quick-step manner. “And I shall send our carriage with bricks and robes to ensure you’re warm. Please come, Eloise. I-I have a Christmas gift I would like to give you.”

  A Christmas gift implied some forethought that his tone did not suggest. She lifted the jar she held in her hand. “You have already given my family a very thoughtful gift.”

  “I have another one,” he said quickly. “A better one. Please, Eloise.” His voice was as rich and thick as the molasses. “Let me start toward making things right between us. Please.”

  Even as she held his eyes and told herself to refuse his hasty offer, she knew that she could not. She loved him—so help her, she did—and though she feared the deepness of those feelings were in vain, she wanted to return to the comfort they once shared, if it were possible. “All right,” she said softly and watched the relief ease his tight expression.

  Neville reached out and took her hand, his touch sparking warmth and confusion and sorrow all at once. That pressing clawing at her heart increased, and she stepped backward to break the connection that was too much to bear.

  “I shall send the carriage at six,” he said.

  Eloise took another step back and nodded. “Yes.”

  He moved past her toward the door, but before he quit the room, he turned back and smiled. “I will make this right.”

  She wasn’t sure he ever could, but she nodded.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a hard afternoon’s ride toward Newport, and then Neville had no choice but to stop at a posting house still outside the city when the dark and snow set upon him. Even the best room was flea-bitten and mol
dering, which made it easy to quit first thing the next morning and take the last few miles to Newport. He had the name of Burke’s uncle—a Mr. Jonathan Burke—and it took under an hour to find the man’s rented rooms not far from the square. Quick inquiry showed that the Mr. Henry Burke Neville was in search of had already left for the day, or rather not returned from the night before. They expected he was at the Cherry Stone Pub on High Street. The pub wasn’t open for business this early in the day, but Burke had made a quick friend in the owner’s son and enjoyed the delights of the resort town before hours. All of this was shared through the services of a far-from-loyal footman, who seemed already out of favor with the young master.

  Neville found the pub soon enough and made his way to the back door where several sets of footprints in the snow and the pitch of both male and female laughter gave away the expedition. Neville took a breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door before picking his way past crates and counters forming the kitchen and storage area. He finally pushed through the pub and blinked to adjust his eyes to the dim light.

  There were two men and at least four women laughing in the far corner of the room. One of the women was attempting to dance but looked a bit overindulged, as she could not keep balance on her high-heeled shoes. The scene was not much different than a dozen others Neville had encountered with Burke; he always seemed to make friends with a pub or saloon owner’s son when he reached a new city. Predictability was Neville’s friend today.

  None of the high-spirited companions noticed Neville until he strode purposefully in their direction. It was easy enough to make out Burke’s form in the group. Neville quickly took hold of his collar, pulled him to his feet, and pushed him toward the door while Burke sputtered and stumbled and bumbled along. Burke’s companions found this terribly funny and therefore did not try to stop Neville’s retreat, for which he was grateful.