Holiday House Parties (10 page)

Emmaline fixed Caroline with an angry eye. “Before this week, I didn't believe he
was
your sort, but even
I
became convinced you were taken with him lately. If you're now trying to tell me you won't have him, that's of course your privilege. It's entirely your affair. I don't want to hear it.”

“But, Emmaline,” Caroline pleaded, “shouldn't you warn him? If he knows he's misjudged … that I didn't intend—”

“I don't want to hear it,” Emmaline repeated, turning to the door. “I shouldn't have said a word to you.” But she turned back for a parting shot before leaving. “The truth is, Caro Woolcott, you've led my brother on in the most flagrant way. And if now you've changed your mind about him, you'll have to get yourself out of this coil without any help from me!”

Caroline, left alone and shaken, clung to the bedpost for a moment, trying to sort out the muddle in her brain. Slowly she lowered herself to the bed and leaned her forehead against the bedpost in despair. This was all her fault, that much was suddenly quite clear. She'd used poor Douglas just to taunt Geordie, and now Douglas believed she cared for him. He would make his offer, and she would have to hurt him. As if that were not bad enough, Geordie would see her doing it, just as he'd seen her do it to Archie. Geordie already disliked her, but how much
more
would he dislike her when he saw her act the heartless jilt
again
?

She couldn't bear the thought of it. How could she—and on Christmas Eve!—break one man's heart and disgust another? It was too dreadful to contemplate. She wished with all her heart that she'd never come to this place. She should have stayed at home in London. Although she'd have been alone in London, she would have been safe from this sort of emotional turmoil. Safe at home was where she wanted to be, more than anything.

Why not? she asked herself, sitting up with a start. She could bribe a stablehand to borrow one of the carriages and a pair of horses, and they could leave at dawn. She could be in London by Christmas! In two days, she'd be safe, and she would have avoided all the pain and stress that remaining here would cause. It was a wonderful solution that would be better for everyone. Lady Teale and Bella might feel offended, but she would write and explain. Emmaline and Douglas would be grateful, for they'd quickly realize that she'd saved Douglas from the humiliation of having his suit refused. And as for Geordie, he would barely notice that she'd gone.

It was decided. She would go. All she had to do was to steal down to the stables and make arrangements. There was still half an hour before dinner was to be served—she could do it right now.

At that very moment, Geordie was paying a call on Douglas Dawlish in the opposite wing of the house. Already dressed in his evening clothes, the Scotsman had come, at his aunt's request, to see if the incapacitated fellow needed some help in going down the stairs to the dining room. He found Douglas in a surprisingly good mood. “I'm glad to see that y're takin' yer mishanter in good spirits, Dawlish,” Geordie remarked.

“That's because I realize my accident—my mishanter, as you call it—could've been worse,” Douglas said, taking Geordie's arm. “At least I'll be well enough on Christmas Eve to be able to go down to dinner and make my announcement.”

Geordie was supporting Douglas's arm as the injured fellow limped to the door. “Announcement?” he asked.

“I'm sure everyone's guessed by this time about Caro and me.”

“Caro and ye?” Geordie felt a sharp contraction in his stomach. It was so painful that he stumbled.

“Careful, old man,” Douglas warned, steadying himself by holding on to the doorjamb. “If you lose your balance, you'll upset us both.”

“Sorry,” Geordie muttered, carefully leading him toward the stairs. “What is it ye were sayin' about ye and Caro—Miss Woolcott?”

“Just that I've chosen Christmas Eve to announce our betrothal. It's a most appropriate time, wouldn't you say? So festive.”

Geordie couldn't bring himself to utter more than a grunt. His shock was so great that he could barely take it in. Caroline and Dawlish, betrothed! The thought sickened him. How could she? The fellow was a maw-worm! Couldn't she see it? But what did he expect? The first time he met her, the girl had described the sort of man she wanted. Hadn't she said then that she disliked Corinthians and gamblers and only wanted a man who could read the
Antigone
in Greek? Well, she'd found one. He wished her happy.

By the time they reached the drawing room he was so tired of forcing himself to wish her happy that he was ready to strangle her. The girl was an idiot. Hadn't she realized that he, Geordie, was in love with her? Hadn't she sensed that all their encounters had been nothing but lovers' quarrels? Where was her sense?

He deposited the odious Dawlish on an armchair and let Aunt Maud take over the chore of fussing over him. Geordie himself was done with the fellow. Even if Douglas Dawlish toppled over on his face, Geordie wouldn't lift a finger to help him.

The smoldering Scotsman stalked across the room to where Aunt Maud's butler was passing around the pre-prandial sherries. He took one from the tray and drained it in a gulp. Then he went to the window and stared out into the darkness. What was he doing here? he asked himself. This “holiday” was becoming nothing but torture. He ought to be home, in Kincardine, instead of being imprisoned here, where he'd have to endure Christmas watching Dawlish and Caroline with their heads together. And what misery he'd suffer on Christmas Eve, when he'd be forced to smile through the recital of that muckworm's betrothal announcement. Dash it all, he told himself, he would refuse to listen to it. He wouldn't. He didn't have to stay there. He could just go home.

The idea was too tempting to push aside. Who would stop him if he just took his leave? Archie's horses and carriage were ready in the stables for just such a purpose. He could take himself to Scotland first thing in the morning. Since his aunt's matchmaking plan for him was not going to be fruitful, she would probably be willing to let him go. But her wishes really made no difference; he had no intention of asking her. Tomorrow, when she came down to breakfast, she would find him gone.

But if he was to leave at dawn, he'd have to go out to the stables at once, tonight, to make arrangements. There was still time to steal down there before dinner was announced. After all, one of the guests had still to make an appearance. Caroline. Caroline had not yet come down.

10

Caroline, dressed in her dinner clothes and protected from the cold with only a shawl, stood in the draughty stable pleading earnestly with one of the grooms to take her to London. Behind her, a pair of horses pawed the ground in their stalls, the breath from their nostrils visible in the icy air. The wiry little groom standing before her also pawed the ground with his feet, not only to keep himself warm but because the conversation with the lady from the manorhouse was making him uneasy. She was making a request with which it was quite impossible to comply. “It cain't be done, m'lady,” he said for the third time. “We'd never make it. An' I'd surely be sacked in the bargain, which I cain't nohow afford.”

Caroline was unwilling to listen to reason. “Not even for ten guineas?” she asked plaintively.

“It's a deal o' money, miss, an' I'd like t' oblige yer,” the fellow said, politely but firmly, “but the snow's too deep. We'd get mired fer certain.”

She was unwilling to accept his argument. “But by tomorrow the sun will come out. You can see already that the sky is clearing in the south. You can even see stars.”

“Even if the sun does show itself, miss, it'll take days fer the roads t' open. Three, at least. Four, if the cold don't break.”

“But can't we just try? If we get mired, we can put up at an inn,” she said in desperation, adding glumly, “at least I'd be gone from here.”

“Are ye wishin' to be goin' off somewhere, Miss Woolcott?” came a voice behind her.

She wheeled about. “Lord Dunvegan!” she gasped.

“Ye promised to call me Geordie,” he reminded her. “Why on earth would ye be wantin' a carriage, ma'am, and at this particular time?”

Her cheeks grew hot. “I mean no offense, but it is no affair of yours.” Her eyes flitted over his elegant black evening coat, high starched shirt points, and beautifully-tied neckcloth—evening clothes that seemed incongruous against the background of stalls and straw. “I suppose I'm holding up dinner,” she murmured guiltily. “Did Lady Teale ask you to search for me? It was not kind of her to send you out in the wind so lightly dressed. You haven't even a hat.”

“Ye dinna seem so warmly dressed yersel',” he pointed out.

She wrapped her shawl more closely about her, as if in answer. “How did you think of seeking me here?”

“Sheer good luck,” he said, forgetting his own reason for coming and waving the groom away.

The little groom was eager to leave, but he looked questioningly at the lady to make certain she was willing to let him go. She merely shrugged in defeat. The groom expelled a relieved breath and quickly whisked himself out of their sight.

“Now, then, lass, he's gone,” Geordie said gently, “so ye can tell me what yer doin' here.”

“Nothing that should cause anyone concern, I swear. If you'll give me your arm, Geordie, we can go back to the house.”

“Ye can take my arm, my girl, but we're not movin' a step 'til I have an answer. Ye were arrangin' to loup the tether, weren't ye?”

“Loup the tether?”

“Skelp. Run off. Disappear.”

She dropped her eyes. “You needn't trouble yourself about it, my lord. I couldn't loup the tether even if I wished to. The roads are closed.”

“But why would ye wish to, when yer betrothed is all set to make an announcement to the world tomorrow eve?”

“My
betrothed
?” She stared up at him, aghast. “What are you talking about? I have no betrothed. Who told you—?”

“The fellow himself. Yer own Douglas Dawlish. And he was as merry as a mouse in the malt when he told me.”

Even in the dim light of the stable he could see her face fall. She turned away from him in obvious distress. “But I never meant—Dash it all, this is a dreadful coil! He never asked—”

“Never asked? Ye mean he didna yet make ye an offer? The fellow's a cod's head! But lass, ye needna weep owre it. I'm certain he intends to.”

She shook her head and made a helpless gesture with her hand. “But I don't
want
him to offer, don't you see? If he does, then I shall have to refuse him. Just as I refused Archie. And then you will think that I … I …”

“
I
will think?” His breath caught in his chest. Her words were strange and quite unlike her. Ordinarily she behaved as if she did not care a fig what he thought. Geordie felt a little tremor in his blood, a little throb in his temple, a little lurch in his chest. Something was happening here, something unexpected and exciting. His brain did not yet understand it, but all his instincts were preparing for it. He took a step closer to her. “
What
will I think, Caroline?”

She turned her head and peeped up at him before turning quickly away again. “You called me Caroline. It's the first time you—” She stopped herself, choked, and then went on in a very small voice. “Everyone calls me Caro.”

“I dinna like Caro. 'Tis too bruckle. Brittle.” He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Answer me, lass.
What
will I think if you refuse Dawlish's offer?”

“That I'm a heartless wretch,” she said tearfully, lowering her head so that he could not see her eyes.

The admission touched him to the core. He could no longer hold himself back. “Wheesht, lass,” he murmured tenderly, “how can I think that, when I love ye so?”

For a moment she did not move. Then a shudder shook her shoulders. “No!” she gasped.

“Oh, aye, lassie, I do. Top owre tail. I ken ye ha'e a need to be thrawn, to contradict everythin' I say, but ye canna contradict me on this. Who knows better than I what I feel?”

“But you told your aunt that you disliked me. I heard you.”

“Did ye now?” He lifted her chin and made her look up at him. “Eavesdroppin', were ye?”

“Yes, I was,” she admitted bravely, blinking back her tears. “And I heard you say that I was not beautiful, that I put on airs, and that you disliked me. Intensely.”

“I lied.”

A dizzying wave of joy enveloped her. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Geordie!”

But he was still too confused to feel joyful. He studied her face with an earnest intensity. “I only said those gowky things because you seemed so set on Dawlish. Did ye truly intend to refuse him, lass?”

“Yes, truly.”

“But ye did flirt with the fellow, Caroline. Shamelessly. It made me wild.”

She slipped from his hold and turned away in mortification. “I never meant to encourage him. It didn't occur to me that he might take my flirtations seriously. I only did it when … when a certain odious Scotsman was present.”

“I'm afeart I'll nae understand females to my dyin' day,” he muttered, taking her arm in a cruel grasp and pulling her round to face him. “I ken ye were runnin' off to avoid an offer from Dawlish. Were ye runnin' away from a certain odious Scotsman, too?”

Believing she'd made her feelings clear, she didn't understand his anger. “You're hurting me, Geordie,” she accused, trying to loose his hold on her.

He let her go at once. “'Tis a great gowk I am,” he said, abashed. He turned away from her to one of the horses' stalls, where one of the animals, his head looking over the door, was watching the scene with interest. Geordie imagined the horse was eyeing him with knowing sympathy. “I'm a blasted wanwyt,” he muttered, patting the animal's nose. “Just because ye dinna care for Dawlish doesna mean ye therefore care for me.”