Holiday House Parties (4 page)

“Oh, Geordie, dearest,” his aunt sighed, beaming at him through her wet lashes, “I'm so glad!”

But he would not take defeat without a last show of rebellion. “I'll come to ye, Aunt Maud, and flichter aboot wi' yer glaikit little visitors, but if ye think I'll have a buttertoothed English miss shoved down my throat, ye're out in yer reckoning. Do ye hear me, Aunt Maud? Matchmakin' I won't have!”

Aunt Maud, having won the first skirmish, cheerily waved off the rest. “So long as you come, Geordie, my love,” she said, “we'll let fate take care of everything else.” Then she kissed his cheek and turned to go and find her daughter. “I shall expect you on Friday week,” she called back to him. “And don't forget to bring your friend.”

Geordie did not expect Archie to accept the invitation to Lancashire without a struggle, but not only did Archie accept—he was overjoyed. “Nothing I'd like better than to spend Christmas at Teale Court,” he chortled. “Why are you surprised? I have nothing to keep me here in town. Besides, your cousin Bella is a charmer. The girl has the most beautiful eyes. And her mouth … well, her mouth is like—”

“I know. Cherries.” Geordie looked at his friend in disgust. “Archie, ye great gowk, can it be that ye've gone and fallen in love again?”

Archie considered the question for a long moment. “Y'know, old fellow, I do believe I have. Do you think, Geordie, that it means I'm flighty?”

4

Geordie put off the trip to Teale Court as long as he could, but by the end of the third week of December he could postpone it no longer. He and Archie packed their portmanteaux, piled them up on top of the Halfords' barouche (which Archie claimed to be more suited to long trips than Geordie's lighter phaeton), and set out.

The ride to Lancashire was endless, the barouche draughty, and Archie annoyingly cheery. It seemed to Geordie that he'd never suffered a more depressing trip. It was only when he reminded himself that every mile was bringing him closer to Scotland that his spirits began to lift. Lancashire, after all, was on the way north. Almost exactly halfway between London and Kincardine. If matters became unbearable at Teale Court, he'd simply steal out, rent a carriage, and drive himself home. The thought was soothing, and he was able to face the prospect of the next week with a lighter heart. After all, the possibility of escape is ever the consolation of the prisoner.

As they traversed the southern part of Lancashire, Geordie was surprised to note how the landscape—a stretch of moor covered with heather—resembled Scotland. But as they trundled further north, the view unexpectedly became less and less northern. The moors gave way to low wooded hills, charmingly picturesque, and to gentle valleys covered with neat fields edged by rows of trees and crisscrossed by bubbling little rivulets. In the midst of this English charm sat Teale Court, a solemn-looking manor house of limestone built in the seventeenth century. It was set on a slight rise and made a commanding presence in the landscape, with its impressive facade flanked by the two extended wings, which formed the court that gave the house its name. Archie gaped at the facade's double stairways that went off in opposite directions only to meet again at the doorway on top. “Look, Geordie, the stairs are just like ours at Halford Grange!” he said in tones of awe, as if the similarity of facade of the two houses had some sort of mystical significance.

Aunt Maud and Cousin Bella were waiting for them at the top of the steps. Aunt Maud enveloped her nephew in an enthusiastic embrace, while Cousin Bella, blushing shyly, offered Archie a trembling hand in greeting. Then the new arrivals, without being permitted to take the time to change from their travel dress, were borne off to the sitting room where several of the other guests sat taking tea. The two gentlemen were promptly introduced to the assemblage, a group that seemed to Geordie at first glance to be a rather colorless lot. It consisted of one elderly couple—Lord and Lady Powell, his aunt's dearest friends—and several young friends of his cousin Bella, none of whom was above twenty-five years of age. Aunt Maud introduced her young guests one by one. There was, first, a Miss Emmaline Dawlish—a young lady severely gowned in brown-and-rust striped muslin, with a horsey face and a deep, rumbling laugh. Beside her was her brother Douglas Dawlish, a serious young man with an already-receding hairline and a look of penetrating intellect. Next came Lady Jane Grevemont—a willowy, slender, delicate girl wearing a pale blue silk gown and a wan smile.

“The only one who seems to be missing,” Maud said, concluding her round of introductions, “is Caro.”

“Here I am,” came a voice behind her, and all eyes turned toward a diminutive figure in the doorway. It was a young woman with a pair of brilliant brown eyes, glowing hair that curled round her face in an auburn cloud, and a lithe figure whose slim charm was emphasized by a clinging gown of rose-colored lustring. Geordie blinked at her in admiration, for in that lackluster company her luminous appearance lit up the room. But Archie, gasping audibly, threw his friend a glance of utter dismay. It took Geordie another moment before he realized that the girl in the doorway was Archie's erstwhile intended, the shrewish Caroline Woolcott.

“Ah, Caro, my love,” Aunt Maud said in fond greeting, taking the girl by the arm and drawing her into the room, “you're just in time to meet my nephew and his friend. This is Lord Dunvegan, whom everyone calls Geordie. And this is—”

“I know the gentleman quite well, Lady Teale,” Caroline said with perfect composure. “Archie Halford and I were once betrothed.”

Aunt Maud's whole body tensed. “B-betrothed?” she gasped, horrified.

Bella's breath seemed to leave her body in a whoosh.
“Betrothed?”
she echoed in a whisper.

Lady Teale looked from her daughter to Archie in distraction. Poor Archie was red with embarrassment. Everyone else in the room was watching the scene in silent fascination. Maud, aware of the tension in the situation, knew she had to do something but had no idea how to proceed. She turned back to Caroline. “Oh, dear,” she mumbled helplessly, “How very … awkward …”

“Not at all,” Caroline assured her with a smile. “Please don't be afraid that Archie and I are in the least discomposed. Our short relationship ended without bitterness and is quite in the past. I see no reason for us to be awkward with each other; do you, Archie?”

Archie expelled a breath of relief. “No, not if you don't,” he said, his brow clearing. He took her hand and bowed over it. “How good to see you, Caroline.”

Lady Teale peered dubiously at the two of them for a moment, but promptly became convinced of Caroline's sincerity, for the girl truly seemed unperturbed by Sir Archibald's presence. Maud, like Archie, sighed in relief. “Then come, both of you,” she said, putting an arm about the waist of each of the no-longer-betrotheds (while casting an it's-going-to-be-all-right look at her daughter over her shoulder) and leading them to the tea table. “Let's forget about it and all have some tea.”

For Geordie, the tea party proved to be a very revealing gathering. It gave him a hint of the romantic undercurrents that would play themselves out during this holiday. The scholarly-looking Mr. Dawlish, for instance, immediately sat himself down beside Caroline and engaged her in deep conversation, making it clear to Geordie that the fellow intended to try to win for himself the girl that Archie had lost. Archie, however, gave no further thought to Caroline. He immediately sat down beside Bella, whose cheeks were still somewhat pale from shock, ready to use all his limited verbal powers to convince Bella that his former engagement to Caroline no longer had any significance for him. And, on the other side of the tea table, the horsey Miss Dawlish and the delicate Lady Jane Grevemont sat together, eyeing Geordie interestedly. Which one, the Scotsman wondered, did his aunt intend for him to pursue? Or was he supposed to flirt with both of them?

For the moment, however, he intended to flirt with neither one. If his aunt wanted him to flirt, he—if he were completely honest with himself—would have to admit that he'd prefer a flirtation with Caroline Woolcott to either of the others. But he didn't have to involve himself with any of them yet. There was time. Seven long days lay ahead of him.

With his teacup and saucer in hand, he stood apart, an observer rather than a participant. He watched Archie worming his way back into Bella's good graces. He watched Lady Powell trying to prevent her pot-bellied husband from overindulging in the iced cakes Aunt Maud had lavishly supplied. But mostly he watched Douglas Dawlish converse with Caroline. His eyes turned to them with annoying frequency. The subject of their conversation must have been serious, for their heads were close and their expressions earnest and unsmiling. Geordie wondered what it was that so engrossed them. Something scholarly, he had no doubt. Geordie himself would be perfectly capable of holding a scholarly discussion with her, he told himself, if she'd give him the chance. He gnashed his teeth, remembering how she'd assumed he hadn't read the
Antigone
. What did she think he did at Oxford, nothing but carouse?

Suddenly Douglas Dawlish rose from his seat to refill his cup. Geordie, almost without conscious intent, promptly strode across the room and took his place. The Scotsman was merely following an irresistible urge to speak to Caroline again. He took the vacated chair (much to Mr. Dawlish's chagrin), smiled down at the girl in a conciliatory manner, and said quietly, “That was very well done, Miss Woolcott.”

She met his eye calmly. “What was well done, my lord?”

“The way ye dealt with the introductions. Ye rode over a difficult moment with great aplomb. Another lass might've asked Archie to remove himself from this gathering, which he, as a gentleman, would've had to do. Ye showed great forbearance.”

“Did I indeed?” she responded coldly, lowering her eyes to her tea and stirring it vigorously.

He did not miss the coldness. “Are ye
indeedin
' me again, Miss Woolcott?” he teased, putting down his cup on a nearby table in order to enable himself to give full attention to charming her. “Does that mean ye still find me presumin'?”

“Very presuming,” she said flatly.

“Indeed? In what way, ma'am?”

She looked up at him, scorn blazing from her eyes. “To offer me your approval is presumptuous enough. But what is worse, you evidently presume that because I showed forbearance toward Archie, I intend to show that same forbearance to you.”

“Why should ye have to show
me
forbearance at all, ma'am? You and I were not betrothed.”

“No, that would be so great an impossibility that it isn't worth speaking of. But you did insult me, my lord. In a most cavalier, cutting manner, and in my own home. Do you deny it?”

“Nae, lass, I winna deny it,” he said, resolved to charm her out of her resentment of him. “I suppose what I said that night might be taken as an insult, but—”

“
Might
be taken as an insult? A satiric remark implying that I would not find a man in all of London I'd consider good enough for me can be taken as nothing else! Yet you apparently expect me to ignore it. Believe me, my lord, your high-handed attitude is no more pleasing to me now than it was when I saw you last. Therefore do not expect forbearance from me. I'm in no mood to forgive or forget.”

Geordie, completely taken aback, ran his fingers through his wild red curls in a gesture of helplessness. “Wheesht, lassie,” he said, resorting to his Lallans as he often did when stumped for words, “'tis a thrawn, grumly, capernoitie female ye are.”

“To hide behind your Lallans tongue is both cowardly and unnecessary,” the girl retorted calmly. “I don't have to understand those adjectives to know they are not complimentary.”

“Not at all complimentary, ma'am,” he admitted. “I said ye're perverse, ill-tempered, and irritable. Now ye've been truly insulted. So, like as no, ye'll now expect
me
to remove myself from this gathering, is that not so?”

“You flatter yourself, my lord. Your presence in this house is a matter of complete indifference to me. But if you think I take any pleasure in your company, you are mistaken. I think it would be better for the contentment of both of us if we do not, during the next few days, get in each other's way more than is necessary for good manners.”

Geordie felt his fingers clench. It was amazing how this slip of a girl could infuriate him. He'd sat down beside her for the express purpose of performing an act of conciliation; he'd merely tried to compliment her. For this, she'd rewarded him with an icy put-down. She had an air of cold superiority that set his teeth on edge. Never had he met a female whom he'd taken in such dislike at first—and second—sight.

He rose to his feet, bowed a punctilious bow, and turned his back on her. If she wanted none of him, that was fine. He wanted none of her, either.

But he hadn't taken four steps before he was aware that Mr. Dawlish was quickly taking back his vacated seat. The fellow hadn't wasted a moment! He'd made for the chair the moment Geordie's back was turned.
What a deuced muckworm
, Geordie thought in inexplicable irritation. He disliked the fellow as much as he disliked Caroline.

But the thought was disturbing to the Scotsman. It was not like him. He rarely disliked people on first acquaintance. He'd always considered himself to be the good-natured sort who was willing to befriend a man on sight. Why was he now being so unfair to Dawlish? He despised the fellow, but there was no good reason for it. Dawlish had done nothing to deserve his disdain. He'd merely taken a seat beside the toplofty Miss Woolcott and was whispering into her ear.

Geordie, glancing at the pair of them with their heads together over their teacups, felt his fingers curl into fists and his teeth clench. He was aware that this was a strange reaction. Try as he would, he could find no explanation for it. But reasonable or not, he had an overwhelming urge to turn on the scholarly Dawlish, haul him to his feet, and land him a facer. What on earth was going on in this situation to make an easygoing, peaceful fellow like himself suddenly develop an urgent desire for an ugly, bloody brawl?