The Earl's Christmas Delivery (2 page)

"No, sir. I don't know who... oh, good heavens! You aren't the Earl of Bahumburgh, are you?"

"I most certainly am.
Who the devil are you?"

"Carole Meriwether, sir."

"You said that already."

"But you asked—"

"What I was asking was why am I speaking with you when I'm supposed to be meeting with someone named Carl?"

"There is no one named Carl," she replied,
speaking as if she'd estimated him decidedly slow. "Perhaps you misread the letter."

"Of course I did not... how do you know this is a letter?" he asked, holding his letter down very close to his side.

"I assumed that was a letter from Estelle instructing you to come meet me. You must have misread it. I'm sure that's no criticism on you, sir. Likely anyone could misread a letter."

"I did not misread it. The name here is Carl."

Trying not to appear as a petulant child, he held the letter over the stall railing and waved it in her face. She leaned in to read it, then shrugged.

"
It does seem to say Carl. Apparently Estelle miswrote, then. My name is Carole."

"As you keep insisting. Well then
, since you seem to know much better than I what is going on here, perhaps you'd be so kind as to give me the gift I am to take to my sister."

She righted her bonnet and stooped to pick up her bag
, standing at the ready and giving him a remarkably bright smile. "Here I am, sir."

"Here what is?"

"
Me
. Here
I
am, sir."

"
I see that you are here. Now where is the item I'm to take to my sister?"

"It is me, sir. I'm to go to Estelle. Did she not tell you that?"

He was reading through the letter again, a feeling of something between desperation and a stomach ailment washed over him.

"No. She did not tell me that. Are you very certain?"

"Most definitely! See, here is her letter to me," she said, digging into her reticule and producing a crumpled paper.

The earl took it and frowned.
It was indeed a letter.

"This is Estelle's hand,
" he admitted.

"Yes, sir. As you see, she must have forgotten to inform you the details of our arrangement."

"I'm to take you to Wiltshire?"

"Yes, sir. And Holly."

"Holly? You mean, a shrubbery?"

"No. I mean a pony. This pony."

"Good heavens!"

"As you see, it's all there in the letter."

He continued reading. The stomach ailment rapidly progressed to outright dyspepsia.

"I am to take a young woman and this... this
orb-shaped creature all the way with me to Wiltshire?"

"Yes, sir. That is the arrangement. The pony is a gift for Estelle's children and I... well, I'm to instruct them in riding."

"I don't believe it."

"Oh, but it's quite true, sir.
I selected the pony myself. She is docile and smart and, as you see, very pretty."

"She's fat."

"That's being a bit personal, don't you think? She has a healthy appetite, that's all."

"She's as round as she is tall. And you are most certainly not a proper riding instructor!"

"I am quite excellent with horses, sir. At least, I was in the years before... well, it's been a while, sir, but I assure you Estelle has complete faith in my abilities."

"
Estelle has clearly lost the use of her faculties. What can she be thinking? I cannot take an unchaperoned lady all the way to West Timley."

"But then how will I get there?"

"By coach or by carriage, I suppose."

"But that is so costly, sir! And... I'm sure
your sister believes I would be much safer accompanied by you than to go off on my own."

"Take a companion."

Now she began to appear frustrated. It was not an unattractive look on her, either. One elegant eyebrow arched dramatically, her blue-green eyes flashed like a gathering storm, she held her chin high, and she pointed her delicate finger with a theatrical air toward the creature in the stall.

"
This
is my companion, sir."

"The horse."

"Pony."

"Whatever."

"There is a difference, sir."

"Yes. A horse would be a useful creature. This only uses up hay."

"How ungenerous!"

"I can see it serving no other purpose, and it certainly isn't a proper chaperone for a young lady."

"I am of age, sir. I have not needed a chaperone for some time."

"You are telling me you have no one aside from this round little nag?"

"No one, sir. Estelle is expecting me and I don't know what else to tell you. You simply
must
take me with you."

She was quite proud
and quite determined, he had to credit her that. But what on earth could Estelle be thinking? He stared at the woman, then glared at the pony, then went back to his letter, then read through her letter again, for good measure. Eventually he could do nothing but acknowledge the words on the pages. He handed her letter back to her.

"My sister expects me t
o cart you to Wiltshire."

"Yes. You've got it, my lord. Good for you."

He let out a low breath and hoped she didn't hear the ungentlemanly phrase that slipped between his lips.

"Very well. Bring the nag and come along. The sooner we get this over, the better."

And like that, the matter was settled. The Earl of Bahumburgh would .be traveling to Wiltshire with an unaccompanied female, the fattest pony in England, and a
piano-forte
. In a wobbly, unsprung wagon. Wearing clothing borrowed from a common laborer.

Surely the day could only improve from here.

Jacob
Myserleigh grumbled as he rummaged through the various rugs and blankets he'd had stowed in the wagon to help ensure the
piano-forte
was held securely in place for the journey. He'd been earl for more than half of his life now, since he was a mere lad of 13 and his father died. How had he come to this, now, dressed like a peasant and climbing about in the back of a wagon?

It was all just one more indication that Christmas was a silly, sentimental holiday and, frankly, a damn nuisance. Estelle was never going to hear the end of this, he promised himself. He'd not even made it out of London yet and already the journey was turning out to be more than miserable. How much worse would he be now that he had to add the snippy little Miss Meriwether to his collection?

If he'd have known he'd be hauling a female he'd have made sure there were more comfortable accommodations. She and her pointy chin, defiant attitude and half-eaten bonnet would be forced to ride on the bench next to him and endure whatever discomfort came their way. The wagon offered little protection against the elements and nothing in the way of springs. With any luck, the chit would realize her folly and refuse to climb up into the thing in the first place.

"Oh, most excellent. You have a wagon, sir," she said when she finally emerged from the stable leading the
circular pony.

Damn it, but did the girl actual
ly seem pleased with that? She saw what she'd be riding in and she had the gall to smile over it? What sort of unnatural female was this, anyway?

First she show
ed no care for propriety and now she appeared delighted to ride on a wagon. Honestly, Myserleigh was becoming more and more concerned for Estelle's sanity. What could his sister have been thinking to arrange this debacle? If not for the fact that Myserleigh prided himself on his upright behavior and strict adherence to societal mores, this foolhardy young woman might be getting herself into a great deal of trouble.

She was, after all, exceedingly pretty. He'd noted that right from the first. Not that he would be the least bit interested in one of Estelle's silly friends
—especially not one who would go off with a stranger and fancied herself a riding instructor, of all things—but in other circumstances he would readily admit she was an attractive woman. She was lucky to be under his platonic protection, as a matter of fact. As she said, traveling unaccompanied might prove somewhat risky for a young lady like her. Estelle was an idiot not to make better arrangements for her, but at least she had trusted her brother to keep the girl safe.

And he would, of course.
Miss Meriwether might be uncomfortable for the next two days, but at least she'd be safe. If she ended up making the journey, after all. There was still the chance that once they got under way she would realize her error and ask to be let off. Estelle could hardly expect him to keep the girl with him against her will, could she?

No. Of course she couldn't. If
Myserleigh wanted to be rid of his sister's so-called instructor, perhaps he should just see that Miss Meriwether did not find anything particularly inviting that would make her want to continue the journey with him. No doubt that would be the easiest task in the world.

"Yes, we have a wagon," he said. "It is the only thing
sturdy enough to haul the
piano-forte
Estelle wants."

"A
piano-forte
! Oh, but I love to play. I'm so happy she will have one. Perhaps I can give the children lessons on that, too."

"
How multi-talented you are," he said, tossing an old woolen blanket over the bench so she didn't get splinters in her backside.

Not that he was allowing himself to contemplate her backside. That would be wrong.

"Perhaps my parents would have done better to teach me more practical skills such as carpentry or sheep herding," she said, and he thought she sounded half serious. "But they did not so, alas, my talents lie in more domestic fields. I can do tatting and needlework, too, if Miss Liza is old enough to begin working a sampler and would like some assistance."

"I see Estelle will at least get her money's worth for you," he said, then realized it sounded decidedly crass.

But she seemed not to notice. She simply shrugged, and gave a light little chuckle as she worked to secure the pony's lead rope to the back of the wagon.

"I hope to make her not regret taking me on, sir. There, do you think this is secure? I would hate for poor Holly to go off wandering away."

"That nag is more likely to roll away than to wander, I think."

"All the more reason to be thankful for your
lumbering wagon, sir. I daresay your hairy draft-beast will not make it a challenge for Holly to keep up."

"If it becomes too much of a difficulty for her, I suppose we can stow your pony in the wagon with the
piano-forte
," he suggested.

Hell. She seemed to be considering this.

"Yes, I believe you're correct. There would be just enough room there," she said. "Unless, of course, you wish to use that space for yourself. I'm sure driving the wagon all the distance to Wiltshire will be quite taxing for you. You might wish to take a rest now and then and I will take over the reins."

Give his reins to a female? No. Hell no.

"I'm sure I can manage. Now, if you're content with your knot tying abilities, perhaps you might take your seat so we can be off. As you've mentioned, we do have quite a distance to cover and only two days to get there."

She frowned at his words, but with one last check of the pony she came to the front of the wagon. He was already settled in his seat so he left her to fend for herself. It was terribly rude of him, he knew, but he wanted to see if she'd acknowledge the difficulty and give up before he had to actually go to any trouble for her.

She did not. She simply grabbed her skirts in one hand, the rim of the wagon wheel with the other, and hoisted herself gracefully up into the box. Without so much as an unpleasant glance at him to accuse him of ungentlemanly behavior, she folded her hands primly on her lap and smiled sweetly.

"I hope the rain holds up for our journey," she said as peacefully as if they were
off to the theatre. "The skies are quite gray and it would be lovely not to be rained on."

He slapped the horse into motion.

"Don't hold your breath, Miss Meriwether. It's been my experience so far that nothing about this journey will be easy."

She did glance over at him this time, but her smile never dimmed. "Then perhaps it isn't a journey, sir, but more of an adventure."

"By God, I hope not."

He had the distinct feeling, though, that God didn't really care what he hoped for. God, it
seemed, was in the mood for a laugh.

Carole glanced over her shoulder, keeping careful not to topple out of her seat in the wagon. Holly appeared to be doing just fin
e, trailing along behind as they made their way through the bustling streets. The wagon rocked and swayed clumsily, its heavy load strapped tightly so it did not shift along the way.

All things considered, the journey might not be quite as awful as she had first feared. Not that the wagon was in any way comfortable, and not that Lord
Bahumburgh seemed in any way a pleasant travel companion, but the clouds were not yet opening on them and the breeze had died down to something quite tolerable. Aside from all that, Carole was looking forward to a fresh start. Anything could be bearable if it ended in improvement. At least... so she hoped.

Whatever awaited her in
Wiltshire was bound to be better than her prospects if she remained in London. For that alone she would enjoy the journey—at least as much as a cold, dreary ride in a derelict wagon with a gentleman who clearly wished she were anywhere else could be enjoyed.

"Our next stop should be just up ahead," he said, his deep voice startling her after the past minutes of silence.

"This seems a very nice part of Town," she said, admiring the tall buildings and the occasional glimpse of St. Paul's magnificent dome towering over them, sheltering them from the threatening skies.

"
It's an expensive part of Town," he grumbled.

"The shops all
appear quite elegant."

"I take that as a good sign my sister will not surprise
me with another pony when I stop to pick up the next gift on her list."

She knew that when he said "pony" he was including her in his surprise. Honestly, what had Estelle been thinking to arrange all this without mentioning the most pertinent details to her brother? Heaven only knew what additional surprises lay in store as
the earl completed his list of gift gathering. Apparently Estelle had not thought to bother telling him the nature of these gifts, simply the direction where to get them.

To tell the truth, Carole found it all rather intriguing, but she had the distinct notion that his lordship was not one to be keen on intrigue. Or surprises. Or ponies who did not meet his strict expectations for weight, apparently. Heaven only knew what he must think of her.

Then again, it was fairly obvious what he thought of her. He had not lifted a finger to assist her into the wagon, he spoke only clipped sentences when completely necessary, and he had barely looked at her once so far. Indeed, it was painfully obvious what the earl thought of her. He thought her common, unneeded, and entirely beneath him. All of which, of course, she was.

The wagon slowed as the earl pulled it to a halt outside a very smart establishment
. She knew they could not possibly have looked more out of place. The earl frowned and glanced back at the letter he kept close at hand. Carole peeped over and could make out the number
thirty-two
written there. That was, indeed, the number indicated on the shop.

The front windows proudly displayed
silver service, golden trinkets and other beautifully worked items that glittered and shone even on this dreary day. Carole could not even remember a time when she'd entertained notions of admiring such things. The name painted in elegant script on the door read
Rundell, Bridge and Rundell
.

"A
goldsmith," the earl muttered. "Well, I daresay whatever I'm supposed to pick up here will be a bit smaller than a
piano-forte
and—we can assume—smell considerably better than a pony."

She hoped that when he said "pony" this time he was
not
including her.

"I'm sure Estelle is most thankful that you are gracious enough to deliver her children's gifts, my lord."

He merely scowled at her words. "It's not as if she gave me a choice."

"We always have a choice, sir. You are doing a good thing for her family."

He uttered something like "Bah" and climbed down from the wagon. Affixing the reins, he glared up at her.

"Stay with the wagon. I'll be
but a moment."

"Very well, sir."

"I only hope no one I know sees me."

Ordinarily she would have been offended at his words since clearly the implication was that he was ashamed to be seen with her, but considering the poor man was inexplicably dressed as a laborer and driving a very rough wagon pulled by the shaggiest beast of a draft horst that Carole had ever seen, she supposed she could understand his feeling.
A few short years ago she, herself, would have felt quite the same way.

My, but how little she cared for such silly things as appearances now. It was amazing how unimportant that became when necessities such as eating or keeping a roof over her head became such fragile commodities. Not that she'd given up
on propriety in her efforts to survive! Thank heavens, she'd been able to get by on the proceeds of selling what meager things she'd managed to maintain from her former life of ease.

Unfortunately, it was only possible to sell something once. When the money from that was used up, she had to sell something else. Then something else after that. By the time Estelle's letter of rescue had come, Carole had reached the end of her
somethings.

So, here she sat primly, determined not to be insulted by the earl's slights and not to mind that she was carrying everything she owned in one small
traveling bag. Only the future mattered now; the future and the fact that she was not going to let the earl's irritable attitude ruin her mood. Life had been difficult, but it was bound to get better.

Perhaps this journey to
Wiltshire was just the first step toward the happy future she had always dreamed of. And it was Christmas! She'd taken happiness for granted in the past—but never again. The earl might wish to grumble and complain over the least little thing, but she would not.

Even as the first sprinkle of rain fell from the sky and dotted her nose, she vowed
she would not complain. At least not so that the curmudgeonly earl might hear her.

Myserleigh
entered the shop where a young man looked down his nose at him immediately. As the young man was a good six inches shorter than Myserleigh the effect was less than intimidating. Myserleigh simply glowered at the pup and introduced himself. Immediately he was given a bit more respect.