Christine Merrill - A Yuletide Invitation - The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter

And if she had secretly hoped that her husband would be along at any time to bring her back, even if it meant an argument that would raise the roof on their London townhouse? Then it was positive proof of her foolishness.

AFTER a fitful night’s rest, Nick Tremaine sought out his host to say a hasty farewell. He found Anneslea at the bottom of the stairs, staring out of the window at the yard. Nick turned the cheery tone the blighter had used on him at the club back upon him with full force. ‘Harry!’

‘Nicholas.’ Harry turned towards him with an even broader smile than usual, and a voice oozing suspicion. ‘Did you sleep well?’

The bed had been narrow, hard where it needed to be soft, and soft where it ought to be firm. And no amount of wood in the fireplace had been able to take the chill from the room. But he’d be damned before he complained of it. ‘It was nothing less than what I expected when I accepted your kind invitation.’

Harry’s grin turned malicious. ‘And you brought a surprise with you, I see?’

Nick responded with a similar smile, hoping that the last-minute addition to the guest list had got well up the nose of his conniving host. ‘Well, you know Elise. There is no denying her when she gets an idea into her head.’

‘Yes. I know Elise.’

Anneslea was still smiling, but his tone indicated that there would be hell to pay if Tremaine knew her too well. Just one more reason to bolt for London and leave the two lovebirds to work out their problems in private.

He gave Harry a sympathetic pat on the back. ‘And, since you do, you will understand how displeased she shall be with me when she hears that I’ve had to return to London.’

‘Return? But, my dear sir, you’ve only just arrived.’ The other man laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I would not think of seeing you depart so soon.’

Nick tried to shake off his host’s friendly gesture, which had attached to him like a barnacle. When it would not budge, he did his best to ignore it. ‘All the same, I must away. I’ve just had word of an urgent matter that needs my attention. But before I go, I wanted to thank you and wish you a M—’

Anneslea cut him off in mid-word. ‘Received word from London? I fail to see how. It is too early for the morning post, and, given the condition of the road, I doubt we will see it at all today.’

Damn the country and its lack of civilisation. ‘Not received word, precisely. Remembered. I have remembered something I must attend to. Immediately. And so I will start for London and leave Elise in your capable hands. And I wish you both a Mer—’

‘But surely there is nothing that cannot wait until after the holiday? Even if you left today you would not arrive in London before Christmas Day. Although you might wish to be a miserable old sinner for this season, you should not make your servants work through Boxing Day to get you home.’

Nick sighed, trying to manage a show of regret. ‘It cannot be helped. I have come to tell you I cannot stay. Pressing business calls me back to London. But although I must toil, there is no reason that you cannot have a Merr—’

Before he could complete the phrase sliding from his lips, Harry interrupted again. ‘Ridiculous. I will not hear of it. In this weather it is not safe to travel.’

Damn the man. It was almost as if he did not want to win his bet. Which was obviously a lie, for he had seen the look on Anneslea’s face at the sight of his wife. The man was as miserable without her as she was without him. Nick stared out of the nearest window at the snow lying thick upon the drive. ‘It was safe enough for me to arrive here. And the weather is much improved over yesterday, I am certain. If I depart now I will have no problems. But not before wishing you a M—’

‘Not possible.’ Harry gestured at the sky. ‘Look at the clouds, man. Slate-grey. There is more snow on the way, and God knows what else.’ As if on cue a few hesitant flakes began falling, increasing in number as he watched. Anneslea nodded in satisfaction. ‘The roads will be ice or mud all the way to London. Better to remain inside, with a cup of punch and good company.’

Nick looked at the mad glint in his host’s eye and said, ‘I am willing to take my chances with the weather.’

There was a polite clearing of the throat behind them as a footman tried to gain the attention of the Earl. ‘My Lord?’ The servant bowed, embarrassed at creating an interruption. ‘There has been another problem. A wagon from the village has got stuck at the bend of the drive.’

Anneslea smiled at him in triumph. ‘See? It is every bit as bad as I predicted. There is nothing to be done about it until the snow stops.’ He turned back to the footman. ‘Have servants unload the contents of the wagon and carry them to the house. Get the horses into our stable, and give the driver a warm drink.’ He turned back to Nick. ‘There is no chance of departure until we can clear the drive. And that could take days.’

‘I could go around.’

‘Trees block the way on both sides.’ Harry was making no effort to hide his glee at Nick’s predicament. ‘You must face the fact, Tremaine. You are quite trapped here until such time as the weather lifts. You might as well relax and enjoy the festivities, just as I mean you to do.’

‘Is that what you mean for me?’

‘Of course, dear man. Why else would I bring you here?’

The man was all innocence again, damn him, smiling the smile of the concerned host.

‘Now, was there anything else you wished to say to me?’

Just the two words that would free him of any further involvement in the lives of Lord and Lady Anneslea. Nick thought of a week or more, trapped in the same house with Elise, trying to explain that he had thrown over the bet and her chance at divorce because he had her own best interests at heart. ‘Anything to say to you? No. Definitely not.’

Rosalind stared at the bare pine in the drawing room, wondering just what she was expected to do with it. Harry had requested a tree, and here it was. But he had requested decorations as well, and then walked away as though she should know what he meant by so vague a statement. The servants had brought her a box of small candles and metal holders for the same, sheets of coloured paper, some ribbon, a handful of straw, and a large tray of gingerbread biscuits. When she had asked for further instruction, the footman had shrugged and said that it had always been left to the lady of the house. Then, he had given her the look that she had seen so often on the face of the servants. If she meant to replace their beloved Elise, then she should know how best to proceed—with no help from them.

Rosalind picked up a star-shaped biscuit and examined it. It was a bit early for sweets—hardly past breakfast. And they could have at least brought her a cup of tea. She bit off a point and chewed. Not the best gingerbread she had eaten, but certainly not the worst. This tasted strongly of honey.

She heard a melodious laugh from behind her, and turned to see her brother’s wife standing in the doorway. ‘Have you come to visit me in my misery, Elise?’

‘Why would you be miserable, dear one?’ Elise stepped into the room and took the biscuit from her hand. ‘Christmas is no time to look so sad. But it will be considerably less merry for the others if you persist in eating the lebkuchen . They are ornaments for the tree. You may eat them on Twelfth Night, if you wish.’

Rosalind looked down at the lopsided star. ‘So that is what I am to do with them. Everyone assumes that I must know.’

‘Here. Let me show you.’ Elise cut a length of ribbon from the spool in the basket, threaded it through a hole in the top of a heart-shaped biscuit, then tied it to a branch of the tree. She stood back to admire her work, and rearranged the bow in the ribbon until it was as pretty as the ornament. Then she smiled and reached for another biscuit, as though she was the hostess, demonstrating for a guest.