The Christmas Heiress (12 page)

"Not the Times?" he asked, his eyes dancing.

"'Tis usually a wasted effort to read that paper. I
find their gossip column sadly lacking in sordid details," she replied lightly.

He raised his eyebrow and drawled, "Aye, but
what they do not know, they can easily fabricate."

"Was it all a lie?" she could not keep herself from
asking. "The newspaper accounts were dramatic and
sensationalistic. In these sorts of situations, a gentleman usually allows a lady to cry off, in hopes of saving
her reputation."

He gave a short, rather mirthless laugh. "My former
fiancee did not cry off in the customary manner. She
ran off. With another man."

"It was most unfortunate that she chose such a
public-"

He held up an arresting hand. "Please, no offers
of sympathy." He gave a slightly self-mocking head
shake. "Oddly enough, I find it makes me feel even
more morose.

Charlotte crossed her arms, but was saved from
making a response by the sound of the dinner bell.
The earl bowed and excused himself, then walked
over to his mother.

The countess appeared startled to find her son
beside her. For a brief moment she looked as if she
would refuse the support of his arm, but the earl
stood patiently, never moving a muscle, never
taking his eyes off his mother.

The guests were all too polite to openly stare, but the
countess must have realized they were all very aware of
the drama. With a small sigh, the older woman lightly
rested her gloved fingertips on the earl's sleeve and
allowed him to escort her from the room.

The rest of the guests paired up and followed
them into the dining room. Charlotte held on
tightly to her grandfather's arm.

"The countess does not seem pleased to see her
eldest son," Lord Reginald whispered. "Looks like
the holiday fireworks are going to be set off early
this year."

"It should be quite a show," Charlotte agreed.
"Do not stand too close, Grandpapa, or you might
become burned."

Lord Reginald smiled, but his eyes were grave.
"Does it distress you greatly to see him again, Charlotte? If you wish to leave, I will make our excuses
to the countess and we can depart in the morning."

Charlotte gave the suggestion due consideration,
then shook her head. "No," she responded firmly,
honestly. "There is no need for us to leave. If it becomes necessary, I can easily avoid the earl. Besides,
we have already allowed our staff to join their families for the holiday. It would be unfair to expect
them to return to Quincy Court and make Christmas for us on such short notice."

"All right. For now we shall stay. But all you need
to do is give the word and we shall depart at once."

Her grandfather led her around the table and a
footman pulled out her chair. Charlotte gathered her
wide skirt to one side and gracefully sat down. She
glanced around the table and realized with some surprise that she was seated on the earl's right hand.

He fittingly occupied the head of the table, but
a higher-ranking female should have been afforded
the honor of sitting next to him. A second glance
about the room confirmed a far more casual
arrangement of the twenty dinner guests. Even the
countess's companion, Miss Montgomery, was joining them, seated beside Jonathan.

"I came in earlier and switched all the placards,"
the earl confided. "In my experience, these dinner
parties can be far too formal and stuffy."

Charlotte frowned and took a sip of wine. While
it was true that a less formal seating arrangement
could be more festive, especially given the season,
she imagined the earl had pulled such a juvenile
prank to give his mother fits. By the look of astonishment on the countess's face, it was working.

Yet Charlotte could not deny the prickle of pleasure she felt, knowing he had chosen to place her
at his side as his dinner companion.

There was a flurry of laughter and bright conversation around the table as the first course was
served. The leek soup was followed by a roasted
partridge, river trout served with mushrooms in
wine sauce, chicken in lemon sauce accompanied
by peas and venison steaks in cream sauce.

It was clear that Cook was outdoing herself
tonight, preparing a feast worthy of a returning
monarch. Charlotte lost count of the dishes after
the stuffed pheasant was served. She took a small bite of each dish, enjoying the unique flavors and
textures, yet tried to pace herself, wondering how
many more courses would be served before the
cheese, fruit and dessert were finally brought out.

"Would you care for more wine?" the footman inquired politely, tilting the crystal decanter above
her glass.

Charlotte set one hand over the rim. "I believe I
have drunk more than my share this evening. 'Tis
probably best if I switch to something less potent."

The earl looked into her eyes and smiled. "Water
is so dull, Miss Aldridge."

"Yes, it is, my lord." She smiled back. And removed her hand.

"Such a fine wine deserves a toast." He turned
the stem of his wineglass between two fingers, then
raised it to her. "To renewing our friendship."

Charlotte's eyebrows rose and her hand, holding
the wineglass, froze halfway to her mouth. "Renewing our friendship? Your words imply we have already established a friendship that now merely
requires some reacquaintance. That is not my recollection of our past."

His expression turned to granite. "It was all very
muddled and highly emotional that year and yet
there is a part of me that feels I owe you an apology,
Miss Aldridge."
--- - - - - - -- - - - -- - -

She gazed at him quizzically, her head slightly to
one side, and fervently wished that she had not
drunk so much wine. Surely she had misheard him.
Or was it truly possible that the earl had said he
owed her an apology?

For months after the incident she had dreamed of
this moment, for years she had longed to have him acknowledge his behavior. Of course, in her imaginings he was on bent knee, fairly begging for her forgiveness and asking for a chance to make amends.

"For what do you apologize, my lord?"

The earl leaned a little closer to her. "Kissing you
in the woods. It was far more than a chaste peck beneath the mistletoe and I fear it was presumptuous
and ungallant of me."

Was it truly that simple? The passage of time had
helped her forget. Could her remaining pride and
pain be soothed by the sincerity of an apology, the
acknowledgement that he had been wrong?

"Your guilty conscience marks you as a man of
honor, and your offer of an apology shows you are
a gentleman, even though it is six years late in
coming." Charlotte took a deep breath. Here at
long last was her opportunity to retaliate for all the
tears she had shed, all the doubt she had carried
about her own worth, all the pain she had felt at
being rejected.

"But the truth is that your guilt is unnecessary,
my lord." Once the words had been spoken, Charlotte felt her body relax. That was the truth. And
she could finally see it clearly, could finally acknowledge it.

She shared in the responsibility for what had happened, even though for years she had conveniently
blamed it all on the earl. "I kissed you willingly. It was
an experience I very much wanted to have and decided to take when the opportunity presented itself."

The earl bowed his head. "You might have been
willing, curious even, but that does not excuse my
behavior. You were innocent, inexperienced. I should have known better. I did know better and I
did not control myself. It was most unfair to you."

"Life is not fair, my lord," she said in a steady, firm
voice. "Yet who ever said it was supposed to be?"

Edward took a sip of wine and stared at Miss Aldridge
over the rim of his crystal glass. She was speaking to
Lord Bradford, the gentleman seated on her right, regaling him with a humorous story about her favorite
dog. The older gentleman was laughing and shaking
his head, clearly encouraging her to tell him more.

Who was this woman? When he had first seen her
standing on the front steps of the manor earlier in
the day, he thought he had been hallucinating.
Charlotte Aldridge was the last person he expected,
or wanted, to see. Coming home to Farmington
Manor was difficult enough without having to face
another one of his mistakes.

"Would you care for more trout, my lord?"

Edward nodded at the footman, then forked up
a portion of the delicate fish, barely tasting it. He
continued to study Miss Aldridge intently. There
was something infectious about her smile. Seeing it
made his own face soften in response.

Had he misjudged her? He had placed her next
to him at dinner as a form of penance. He had
wronged her six years ago, had taken advantage of her youth and vulnerability and had never acknowledged his responsibility in the matter.

He had pushed her, and that fateful holiday season,
to the back of his mind, yet he admitted now that she
was someone he had never truly forgotten. It was unfortunate that she was so closely intertwined with the
schism between himself and his parents, but he knew
if it had not been Charlotte they so forcefully proposed he marry, it would have been some other
female that he would have rejected on principle
alone.

Edward remembered her as a spoiled young miss,
full of mischief and daring. She was different now,
far more beautiful, still sharp and witty, but not
nearly as obvious and demanding.

It had taken courage for her to acknowledge his
apology and accept a share of the responsibility for
their afternoon's indiscretion all those many years
ago. Courage, honesty and maturity. Excellent qualities for a wife.

My God, had he just lumped Charlotte Aldridge and
matrimony together in his mind? Edward shook his
head and stared at the ruby liquid in his goblet, as
if that were the cause of these outlandish thoughts.

He took another bite of food, but his gaze refused
to remain on his dish. Instead it was pulled toward
Charlotte's womanly figure, noting the elegance of
her gown, the sparkle of her jewels, the creamy
slope of her shoulder. She had the most irresistible
touchable skin he had ever seen. He wondered why
she had never married. With her looks, breeding
and wealth, he knew she must have had many offers.

"You are looking far too serious and concerned,
my lord. Pray, do not tell me you have you swallowed a fish bone?"

Bemused, he replied, "If I had, I would be coughing
and choking and making a total spectacle of myself."

"Hmm, as I remember, that would be out of character. 'Tis Jonathan who usually draws, encourages
and then revels in the spotlight."

"Yes, my brother does have that talent."

They both gazed simultaneously toward the other
end of the table where Jonathan was seated. Those
beside him, as well as those several chairs away,
were all paying rapt attention to his every word.

"He is something of a devil," Charlotte said in
an affectionate tone. "If I shut my eyes, I can easily
imagine him with a tail and pitchfork."

Edward leaned close, settling a hand on the back
of her chair. He realized that he was flirting with
her, but he could not seem to help it. "If Jonathan
is a devil, then what am l?"

"A dragon," she responded without hesitation,
tilting her head as she stared at him. "A tall, brooding, smoldering-eyed dragon, with an excellent
Bond Street tailor."

"Do I breathe fire?"

"Absolutely." A teasing smile curved her lips and
her eyes sparkled in the glow of the candlelight.
"Why, the mere touch of your breath makes one's
skin tingle as the warmth moves over the surface."

Edward worked to keep his breath steady as his
pulse started racing. "And do you play with fire,
Miss Aldridge?"

"Whenever I can, my lord."

A sense of challenge rippled between them. Their
eyes met and suddenly it was difficult for Edward to
remember that they were not alone.

"I should not have encouraged you," he said, charmed by the flirtatious glance she sent his way.
"'Tis dangerous, considering what I know."

"About me?"

She was a distraction that he did not need at the
moment, a distraction with the power to complicate his life, yet Edward could not seem to keep
quiet. "It is my firm belief that you have the potential to become a wicked woman."

Her eyebrow arched delicately, raising a corner
of her mouth. "Do you really think so? A wicked
woman? How perfectly wonderful!"

Charlotte sounded so satisfied with herself that
Edward could not hold back his laughter. "You are
supposed to be appalled by my suggestion," he said
with an easy grin. "Have I been so long without the
company of aristocratic young ladies that I no
longer remember what is correct and proper?"

"Flirting at the dinner table is always proper, my
lord." She lifted her fork to her mouth and took a
delicate bite of roasted, stuffed pheasant. "It stimulates the appetite."

Edward groaned faintly. "Oh, it stimulates far
more than that, Miss Aldridge."

Her eyes widened, then she swallowed, her throat
going taut. "Now who is being wicked? A lesser
woman might make a scene over that veiled yet improper statement, but fortunately for you I have
never been enslaved by the dictates of convention,"
she stated, clicking her tongue in a most provocative manner.

"And yet you remain within the bosom of society," he said. "Most impressive."

Charlotte shrugged. "Having wealth and a solid
aristocratic heritage is key to my survival. They may
not like or approve of my attitudes and actions, but it is difficult for them to openly snub the greatniece of a duke."

Mischief glimmered in her lovely green eyes.
"Grimly enduring all those endless lectures from
my older, more experienced peers often helps mitigate the damage," she continued. "Yet I have
learned that the best way to navigate the waters of
society is to possess a hearty sense of humor, a
heightened sense of the ridiculous and above all,
not take myself or others too seriously."