Joanna Maitland - Regency Mistletoe & Marriages - A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

‘We get nice presents here, too,’ she said absently, resuming her search for something she deemed fit to appear on stage in. ‘All of us. Nobody is forgotten,’ she said, with such a wistful air that Helen suspected she must have suffered such a fate herself. ‘And we get to stay up really late to put on our play. And all the grown-ups watch us and clap their hands. Even Mama and Papa.’

Helen could barely refrain from putting her arms round the child and giving her a hug. Her words spoke volumes about the way she was usually treated in her own home.

‘I would rather they didn’t,’ said the slender boy cast in the role of the angel Gabriel, who was sitting on a nearby stool, glumly studying his copy of the play. He was clearly nervous about performing in front of an audience. ‘I would rather just stay up here with a book.’ He coughed in a most theatrical manner. ‘I don’t think I will be able to say my lines. I think I’m catching cold.’

‘You had better not, Swaledale,’ observed ‘Joseph’. ‘Or you will miss the skating.’

Helen looked sharply at ‘Gabriel’. If his name was Swaledale then he must be the younger brother of Lord Bridgemere’s heir. Now that she knew he was related, she thought she could see a resemblance. He did have a rather sulky mouth.

‘Miss Forrest,’ said ‘Joseph’, turning to her, ‘His Lordship has made a skating pond, especially for us children. We are all going to go down tomorrow if the rain holds off. Will you be coming with us?’

‘I am not sure,’ she replied, tight-lipped. The Earl had specified that he wanted responsible adults to watch over his precious young relations, implying that she did not qualify.

‘Mary’ pouted. ‘I expect it is only for boys. The girls will have to stay indoors and…learn lines, or something equally tedious!’

‘No, no, Junia, dear,’ said Reverend Mullen, who had been passing with a sheaf of scripts in his hands. ‘ All the children are to gather in the stableyard, first thing in the morning, where a cart is to be ready to carry them to the pond. Those who do not wish to skate do not have to. They may watch. There will be a warm shelter where hot chocolate and cakes will be served.’

‘Joseph’s’ eyes lit up.

‘And did I not tell you, Miss Forrest? His Lordship particularly wants you to accompany the nursery party, since you are such an enthusiastic skater.’

‘Are you?’ said Junia, dropping a length of purple velvet and looking up at her wide-eyed. ‘Would you teach me to skate?’

‘Of course I will,’ replied Helen, suddenly understanding why her parents sometimes overlooked her. Junia, she recalled hearing, was the name of another of Lady Thrapston’s daughters. Her mother must have been furious she had produced yet another girl, when there, in the form of ‘Gabriel’, was the proof that her sister, Lady Craddock, had produced not only an heir for Lord Bridgemere, but also a potential spare.

As Reverend Mullen hurried away, bent on his next task, Helen’s mouth formed into a determined line. No child over whom she ever had any influence would be made to feel inferior because of their sex! She would make sure their accomplishments were applauded, their talents encouraged, and—she glanced at the slender, pale young ‘Gabriel’—their fears soothed.

Junia sat back and beamed at her. And Helen’s opinion of her mellowed still further. She probably could not help being a little haughty, considering who her mother was. The poor girl had clearly been taught that certain behaviour was expected of a young lady. But Helen was going to see to it that tomorrow, at least, she had the chance to break out in the direction her natural inclination carried her!

Then she turned to ‘Gabriel’.

‘You know, you do not have to say very much,’ she said, eyeing his script. ‘From what I have seen of the way Reverend Mullen has written it, you mostly have to stand there, looking imposing, while Junia recites the Magnificat.’

‘And keep the little angels in order,’ said Junia.

Many of the younger children, who could not be expected to learn lines, would be dressed as angels and simply moved about to represent the heavenly host watching over the events taking place in Bethlehem.

He sighed despondently. ‘They won’t mind me ,’ he prophesied gloomily. ‘Nobody ever takes any notice of me.’

‘They might,’ said Helen on a burst of inspiration, ‘if you arm yourself with some treats as a reward for good behaviour.’

‘I say, Miss Forrest,’ he said, brightening up immediately, ‘that’s a capital notion. I might ask Cook for some jam tarts, or something!’

Helen had visions of half a dozen little angels, their faces smeared with jam. ‘Something like ginger snaps?’ she suggested. ‘Easier to stow in your pockets for distribution at the proper time. I shall go and have a word with Cook about it later on.’

How fortunate she had already mended fences below stairs, she reflected as Gabriel grinned at her.

Goodness! Helen was beginning to think she might have some natural talent when it came to dealing with children after all.

Alas, she had not so much success with adults!

The very moment she walked into the blue saloon that evening she felt out of place. And self-conscious because she had so badly misinterpreted Lord Bridgemere’s motives in singling her out for attention. Right now he was moving from one group of guests to another, playing the part of dutiful host. Something inside her squeezed painfully as she saw afresh that it was the duty of a good host to pay a little attention to each of his guests. And she had mistaken his willingness to spend a little of his time ensuring she enjoyed some of the beauty of his estate at dawn’s first light as personal interest in her. His subsequent attitude had shown her how he really viewed her.

And yet, even knowing this, she was still painfully aware of exactly where he was at any given moment. It was as though she was attuned to the low, melodious timbre of his voice. And, her attention having been caught, she could not prevent her eyes from seeking him out. And then she would feel deflated whenever she caught sight of the back of his head, his light brown hair gleaming in the candlelight. For he would always be intent upon somebody else. So far as he was concerned she might as well not exist.

It was even worse once they sat down to dine and she had an unimpeded view of him at the head of the table. For he talked quietly to those seated on his right hand, or his left.

And ignored her completely.

By the time the ladies withdrew, all Helen wished to do was escape to her bedchamber, where she might have some chance to wrestle her tumultuous feelings into submission.

But Lady Thrapston beckoned to her the moment she crossed the threshold, and she did not see how she could refuse her imperious summons to take a place on the sofa beside her.

Under cover of the noise her two daughters were making at the piano, Lady Thrapston fired her opening salvo.

‘I have been observing you,’ she said, with a grim smile. ‘And I feel obliged to warn you that your tactics will not work with Bridgemere.’

‘Tactics?’ Helen was so surprised that she hardly knew how to answer Lady Thrapston. They had a knack, she reflected wryly, Lord Bridgemere and his sister, of reducing her to parroting one or two words of their speech.

‘Do not play the innocent with me. You fool nobody with all that nonsensical talk about not wishing to marry! It is quite obvious that you have set your cap at Lord Bridgemere.’

Helen’s first instinct was to deny the allegation indignantly. She had just opened her mouth to make a pithy rejoinder when she heard her aunt laughing at something Lady Norton had said. And she closed her mouth abruptly. She must not let her temper get the better of her. Aunt Bella was still awaiting Lord Bridgemere’s verdict, and until then it would not do to create an even worse impression upon him than she had already done.