His Mistletoe Wager Page 4

  ‘As have you.’

  ‘My father means well.’ There was a note of exasperation in her tone. He watched her lovely eyes wander towards the Earl of Upminster and soften instinctively at the sight of him. There was love there. Loyalty. Then he noticed the way she winced when her father grinned back encouragingly. Clearly he assumed the fact she was talking to a man was a good sign. Even if the man happened to be him. Without realising it, she had shown Hal her Achilles’ heel. ‘He just does not understand...’ She stopped herself. Her plump lips sealed in a flat line.

  ‘He just does not understand that you are not inclined towards marriage. Most people do not understand such a thing could be possible, I suppose, especially for a woman, when procuring a husband is meant to be at the very top of her list of priorities.’

  ‘It does not even feature on my list of priorities.’ This was said with such fierceness she quite forgot to put her guard up for a moment. There was fire beneath all the ice, too. Interesting.

  ‘Mine either. No doubt I shall have to succumb one day. Produce the obligatory heir and a spare, but I am only twenty-seven and far too young to settle down.’

  ‘Hence you are using me as a shield to ward off the eager hordes.’ The ghost of a smile touched her lips and Hal experienced a strange flutter in his chest at being the cause of it. For some reason, he sensed the stare of another and, when he looked towards it, saw her father watching their interactions like a hawk. ‘I wish I had a shield to protect me from my father’s enthusiasm for finding me suitors. But alas, he is beyond determined and I fear I am doomed to suffer regardless.’

  ‘Perhaps I can return the favour?’ The words were out before he could stop them. However, the opportunity was there, ripe for the picking, and a true seducer took advantage of the moment. Thinking on his feet. ‘I notice your father appears to be interested in you talking to me.’

  The shutters came down again and her expression became unreadable. ‘He will get over it.’

  Tread carefully, Hal. ‘I think it is fairly safe to say we both have an aversion to marriage. Your father wants you to find a man and half of this ballroom wants me to be the man for them. Why don’t we form an alliance against them all?’

  ‘I am not sure I follow, my lord.’

  ‘The way I see it, this dreadful Christmas season is stuffed with potentially awkward and bothersome social functions which we are both duty-bound to attend. Your father is going to bore you with a succession of would-be suitors and, because my mother is determined to enjoy life and I must be her escort, I am going to have to spend a great many hours hiding from the hordes on freezing terraces, if tonight’s experiences are anything to go by. Therefore, why don’t we pretend to be interested in one another? Your father will be thrilled you have selected a suitor of your own accord, thus one would hope he will leave you alone to allow romance to blossom, and your legendary sullen disposition and my most obvious attentions towards you will deter other young ladies from coming after me. And at the very least, we will both have someone like-minded to talk to during all those long interminable hours of enforced gaiety. These affairs can be so dreadfully dull.’

  Hal allowed the silence to stretch as he watched her mull over his proposal. To his complete surprise, he did feel a little guilty at how he was trying to manipulate her, but that was far outweighed by the benefits of their unlikely partnership. Even if he lost the bet, which of course he wouldn’t, Lady Elizabeth would be an effective deterrent from all those eager young ladies and that, in itself, would make the next month far less painful even if he did end up having to take up the shovel.

  ‘No, thank you, my lord.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it out of hand if I were you. Such an arrangement benefits both of us and I suspect the pair of us would rub along quite well. We are both obviously jaded and have a healthy disregard for all this nonsense around us. Think of all the fun we could have.’

  ‘I said no!’ The barricade went up again and this time it was unyielding. She sat stiffly, staring away from Hal resolutely. Their brief, enlightening conversation was clearly at an end. Something about her demeanour made him reluctant to push further. He had the distinct feeling if he continued to attempt to whittle down her defences he would do more harm than good. Sullen Lizzie was going to be a stubbornly tough nut to crack and therefore Hal would have to use subtle persistence to get her to voluntarily lower the drawbridge rather than a battering ram to breach the enormous walls she had placed around herself. He sat quietly beside her. Just in case she had a change of heart.

  After an age, she stood and he watched, fascinated, as her eyes once again sought her father. The sigh of frustration was audible when the Earl of Upminster beamed at her expectantly across the room and beckoned to her to come and meet the gentleman stood ramrod-straight and eager at his elbow. A far more suitable and sensible suitor than Hal.

  ‘Are you sure I cannot tempt you into an alliance?’

  Her step faltered and it was then that he realised he might still stand a chance. ‘Absolutely not. The idea is preposterous.’ But she was tempted. And for now, that was enough.

  Chapter Three

  Her father could barely contain his excitement in the carriage ride home. ‘Although your choice of fellow leaves a great deal to be desired, it was encouraging to see you finally talking to a gentleman, Lizzie. Are you finally warming to the idea of courting again?’

  Of course she wasn’t, but she could see the benefits of the outrageous proposal. Having a pretend beau would certainly make the next month bearable. Perhaps refusing him had been a hasty decision? And then again, she had survived five interminable Seasons and five miserable Christmases by herself; she could jolly well manage one last month on her own. ‘It was a conversation, Papa. Please do not read anything more into it than that. I am quite indifferent to the Earl of Redbridge’s charms.’

  Besides, Lizzie had already decided never to converse with the man again despite the allure of a month of peace. He had been far too solid and too tall, smelled far too nice and, for some inexplicable reason, he interested her in a way no man had since her traitorous former fiancé. The lack of charm and flattery had been refreshing. A little too refreshing, and she had found herself breaking her own rules by talking to him. And he was astute. He had immediately worked out her father wanted her to wed, yet he had understood her reluctance to comply. Without thinking, Lizzie had let things slip unguarded out of her mouth. At one point, she had to remind herself midsentence that Henry Stuart was cut from the same cloth as Rainham. A handsome rake. A charmer. Something worth bearing in mind when her pulse kept racing every time he had gazed down at her. As soon as she had reassured herself she was still uninterested, talking to him had been almost entertaining.

  Almost. Which was a worry.

  The man had a very impertinent way of conversing with her which she had decided she did not like. Leaning close and talking in that hushed, deep whisper had made several pairs of nosy eyes stare at them intently. Something which was made all the more uncomfortable by the irritating fact the whispering had been unsettling, too. Lizzie had not been that close to a man since the last time her wretched former fiancé had scrambled down the wisteria and had no desire to ever be again. Unfortunately, her traitorous body seemed to have other ideas and had covered itself in hundreds of goose bumps when his lips had hovered close to her ear. She sincerely doubted her unexpected reaction had anything to do with the Earl of Redbridge, more likely they were caused by five years of blissful isolation from all things male.

  ‘I know it was just a conversation, Lizzie, however as it was the first conversation you have deigned to grant a man of your own accord in years, and because I saw you smiling once or twice, you will forgive me for marking its significance. Regardless of your indifference towards Redbridge—which I heartily approve of, by the way—your change of heart towards the oppos
ite sex in general warms mine. Who knows? You might meet a nice man whom you are not indifferent towards. I know plenty of sterling fellows who would suit you perfectly. One more suitable than Redbridge, of course, as his reputation is unacceptable.’ His face clouded briefly as they both inadvertently thought of Rainham. ‘I want you to marry, Lizzie. Someone safe and dependable. I promised your mother on her death bed that I would see you settled with a good man after what that blackguard did to you. We both hoped you would find someone sooner rather than later.’

  ‘But I have no desire to marry anyone, Papa. Mama would understand if she could see how happy Georgie is. Throwing a new husband into the mix at this stage in his life would unsettle him.’

  ‘The boy needs a father.’

  ‘No. He doesn’t. And certainly not one who would tolerate him at best, or hide him away on some distant estate at worst. Forgive me for disagreeing—but he does not need a father. He has a wonderful grandfather instead.’

  She watched his eyes go all misty for a moment before he cleared his throat to try to disguise his emotion by pretending to clear away a speck of imaginary dust. ‘But I am not getting any younger. You know how much I worry about you being left all alone in the world when I am gone.’ The guilt turned sour in her mouth. He would be devastated when she finally plucked up the courage to tell him she intended to be all alone sooner rather than later and would leave him all alone in the process. They would visit, of course, but it would hardly be the same. ‘And the right husband would bring my grandson up as his own. I would make it a stipulation in the settlements.’

  Wouldn’t that be dandy? Poor Georgie’s place in his mother’s house would be an enforced legality and no doubt the source of a great deal of resentment. ‘Does that honestly strike you as the best outcome? Because it doesn’t to me. I am quite capable of looking after myself and my son unaided, Papa. I do wish you would stop worrying about us.’

  ‘Tell me, Lizzie, as a parent yourself, can you ever envisage a time when you will not be concerned with little Georgie’s welfare?’ He had her there. Probably never was the answer. ‘Now be a good daughter and indulge this old man for once. I know what is good for you and I refuse to give up on your mother’s last wish. You deserve the love of a good man.’ He patted her hand affectionately, his mind made up regardless.

  As always. Exactly why she had been forced to go behind his back.

  ‘I have high hopes of this festive season. High hopes indeed.’ He had kissed her cheek and practically skipped up the stairs to bed. A very bad sign as he had that twinkle in his eye. The one which he always got when he was intent on matchmaking and, as he had only recently increased her dowry, his buoyant mood did not bode well.

  More guilt was piled on afresh and she spent all night questioning the logic of her impulsive decision to refuse Redbridge. Such a bargain only served to give her father hope where none existed and that seemed cruel. Being duplicitous, although it was something she had been forced to do for five long years, was not something which sat well with her, especially when she was doing it to her family rather than the rest of the world. However, her father’s attempts at marrying her off were becoming overt in the extreme. Very overt and very extreme. He meant well, she reminded herself. He meant well and he loved her. For that alone she would grit her teeth and endure whatever challenges he threw at her in their final month with as much good grace as she could muster.

  * * *

  Lizzie managed to catch about two hours of sleep before she was woken at dawn by her maid with a steaming cup of chocolate and a report of the weather. ‘It’s freezing outside, my lady, but it doesn’t look like rain.’

  ‘Can you tell the nanny to ensure little Georgie is bundled up against the cold and tell her to inform him if he refuses to put on his gloves again then he will not be flying his kite. And I am sure they have already thought of it, but check the carriage is packed with a few extra blankets.’ Knowing her son, he would get cold once he had tired himself out dashing around Richmond Park and if he was too chilly he would not nap on the way home. Something which always made him surly in the afternoons.

  As it was every Tuesday and Thursday morning, breakfast was on the table before seven and Georgie was already bouncing in his chair with excitement. ‘Come along, young man. Eat your porridge. You know your mama will not leave until the bowl is empty.’ Her father was an indulgent grandparent and insisted on eating with them every morning, even if that meant getting up twice a week at such an ungodly hour.

  The drive to Richmond took over an hour and the streets were nicely deserted at such an unsociable hour. As the remote park would be, too. Lizzie would be able to spend a blissful few hours outdoors with her son miles away from London and away from prying eyes and be safely back home by early afternoon when the fashionable residents of Mayfair went out. They had visited the huge parkland at Richmond twice weekly for the last six months for the sake of both her own and her son’s sanity. It was not as if the pair of them could wander around Hyde Park or St James’s. Georgie had never been to either in case he was seen and the scandal erupted. He loved to run free in the countryside, loved to explore wooded nooks and crannies and delighted in all God’s creatures, whether that be the smallest woodlouse or the majestic red deer that roamed wild in the open parkland of Richmond.

  Soon he would be able to do this every single day and as happy as that prospect made her, it was bittersweet. Part of the reason her son enjoyed these jaunts so very much was regaling the excursion in great detail to his grandpapa afterwards. As soon as they arrived home, her son would boisterously run into her father’s study, clamber on his knee and describe every beetle, every twig, the exact strength of the breeze and the hue of the sky. Then he would lie for at least an hour under her father’s desk while the pair of them worked in companionable silence—her father on important affairs of state; Georgie sketching childish depictions of animals in the expensive coloured chalks his grandpapa had bought him for that express purpose. She was dreading telling them those days were now numbered, despite the fact it was ultimately for the best.

  Her son shovelled in the last spoonful of porridge. ‘Come along, Mama! I hope we see the deer again today. Do you know that the Latin name for the red deer is cervus elaphus? Grandpapa found it in one of his books. They mainly eat grass and twigs—but apparently they are also partial to moss.’

  ‘Really? Well, that is interesting. What else did you learn about them?’ She wrestled him into his coat, then took his hand. Listening to his incessant, excited chatter Lizzie resolutely banished all thoughts of her father’s meddling and the Earl of Redbridge’s increasingly tempting offer from her mind.

  * * *

  Aaron had been gloating over breakfast. As soon as the ladies left them to their newspapers, he had grinned smugly across the table and recounted the magnificent way Lady Elizabeth Wilding had given him short shrift at the Renshaw ball. ‘All that practised charm, your fortune, title and apparent good looks did nothing to sway the lady. You do not stand a chance of winning this bet, Hal. You have no idea what a good mood that puts me in.’

  Hal took it all gracefully, but seethed inside. Aaron took the word competitive to new levels and was a gloating victor. The best Christmas present Hal could give to himself was the splendid sight of his brother-in-law wielding a shovel and, by Jove, he had to do whatever it took to ensure it happened. Sullen Lizzie had been interested in his proposition. He had seen it with his own eyes and an alliance between them was the best way forward to fulfil the terms of the Mistletoe Wager. All he had to do was convince her of the benefits. There was a chance that might be better achieved in private than in a public social setting.

  * * *

  An hour later he found himself striding jauntily up the front steps of the Earl of Upminster’s Grosvenor Square town house, a house which had always been but a stone’s throw from his own, but might have well been on th
e moon for all the dealings he had had with its occupants, an enormous bunch of flowers in his arms.

  He rapped the brass knocker smartly and stood tall, his most charming smile firmly in place and his thick hair freshly combed. The large, imposing butler was a bit of a shock. The fellow looked more suited to prize fighting than domestic service. He positively filled the door frame. ‘Good morning. I have come to call on Lady Elizabeth. Please tell her I am here.’ Hal handed over his calling card, but kept the flowers. He wanted to see her face when she saw those as he had picked the blooms specifically.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth is not at home, my lord. I shall tell her that you called.’ The heavy front door began to close.

  ‘Now, now, my good man, we both know how this game is played. It is barely eleven o’clock so I am sure she is home. Nobody goes out this early. Not in Mayfair.’ Unless they were on the hunt for the perfect bunch of flowers to give to a guarded yet intriguing occupant of this very house. Hal had had to travel to Covent Garden directly after breakfast for the cream roses. ‘Inform Lady Elizabeth that I intend to remain rooted to this front step until she grants me an audience.’

  The giant butler sighed. ‘Suit yourself, sir, although I must warn you, it will be a waste of your time. Lady Elizabeth is genuinely not at home this morning.’ The door went to close again and Hal began to suspect that the man might be telling the truth.

  ‘Can you tell me where she is then?’

  ‘I am afraid not, my lord.’

  ‘Will she be back this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. However, she is never at home in the afternoons, if you get my meaning.’ The butler stared impassively. ‘Nor will she be at home tomorrow morning as she is never at home in the mornings either.’

  ‘Then you admit that she is, as I suspect, currently at home as we speak, yet resolutely not at home to all callers regardless as to who they might happen to be.’