The Earl's Christmas Delivery (3 page)

The employee seemed to know exactly what
Myserleigh was here for and quickly disappeared into a rear room. When he returned a moment later he carried a small parcel, wrapped up in muslin and green satin. As the man set it down and carefully unwrapped it, Myserleigh was surprised by the exquisite beauty of the thing.

It was a
small golden box, perfectly crafted to hinge tightly and rest on solid little feet. The box itself was covered in elaborate filigree and tiny gold rosebuds, creating a veritable garden of extravagance and begging to be gazed at and studied. Myserleigh usually had no time for such frippery, but even he could see this was of the highest quality and very likely cost his sister quite dear. Why on earth she would buy such a thing for her children he couldn't possibly guess.

"We did not craft this box, sir, but
you can see it is of good quality," the young man said. "It was in sore need of repair so we have done our best to put it back into order."

"It's quite charming," the earl allowed.

"Does the box meet with your approval?" the young man asked as he proudly turned it to display their efforts.

Myserleigh
was unsure how to answer. "I suppose so. Does Estelle not know what she has paid for?"

"
Mrs. Bexley was quite specific, sir. She sent us the box for mending and cleaning, with clear instruction that you must approve our work before we will get paid."

He supposed
this made sense, considering the likely cost of the item. He gave it a closer look, testing the lid and touching the downy-soft velvet that lined the box interior. It was a pleasure to behold and he took his time, appreciating the surprisingly lifelike petals of the pink enameled full-bloom rose that adorned the inside of the lid. Very feminine and lovely, indeed. It was everything a lady of quality could want.

"It appears quite exceptional," he declared, much to the young man's delight. "My sister will be most pleased."

"Excellent. She instructed us to use great care as it will be a gift for someone dear."

Her daughter, Liza, no doubt. It seemed an extravagan
t gift for a five year old, but Myserleigh was not here to critique his sister's spending habits. If her husband authorized such things, it was none of his business. He was simply the delivery man in this matter.

"
And," the young man continued, just slightly hesitant. "She said you would pay."

"She said that I would...?"

"It is an exquisite box, sir, and it was in particularly dire need of refurbishing. She assured me you would be happy to cover the cost—as it is such a special time of year and will obviously bring much joy to the recipient."

Botheration
. Estelle assumed too much of him. Then again, the young man had done excellent work and ought to get paid for it. And it was Christmas. This lovely box would no doubt bring happy smiles when it reached its new owner tomorrow.

It was e
xactly the sort of thing a young lady might ooo and aah over when presented to her. Not only was the box itself a thing of beauty and a stunning gift, but the enameled rose inside spoke of the fulfillment of hopes and dreams. He had to admit, when Estelle presented this box she would be met with a most joyous response.

Pity
Miss Liza was so very little, though. He knew his niece to be interested in dolls and brightly colored playthings she could hold in her hands and carry under her arm. Those were the gifts he himself had got for her and had tucked up in his wagon—dolls and trinkets for Liza, tops, fishing poles, and a tiny bow for the boys.

This
beautiful box, though, seemed entirely over done for an energetic young child. In fact, as he studied it, this was clearly the gift for a grown woman, and someone more than just a family member, at that. Indeed, this was a gift for a lover.

Yes, the red velvet interior and the wide petals of the secret rose spoke far more of
passion and romantic entanglement than it did of childhood trinkets. For a certain, if he were trying to gain some fair creature's esteem
this
would be the gift he might chose. And he'd be enthusiastically rewarded, he could well imagine. A man could win a woman's heart with a gift like this. Then he would give her the jewels to put in it.

What on earth was Estelle thinking to commission this for a child?
But again, he was not here to judge. He was merely gathering the gifts then getting on with his journey. No matter how overgenerous this parcel was, at least it would bundle up and be stowed nicely in his wagon. At this point he should be happy it was not a giraffe.

He
paid the man and left the warm, gracious shelter of the shop to step outside. Into rain. When had it begun raining? He couldn't have been indoors more than ten minutes.

One glance at the wagon and he knew it had been raining nearly that long. Miss Meriwether was quite drenched. It was a pitiful sight, really.

The poor girl had had enough sense to pull a section of the oil cloth covering the
piano-forte
up around her, yet very clearly she was wet. The brim of her scuttle-shaped bonnet sagged over her eyes and from the knees down she was exposed to the rain. Her skirts whipped about her legs in the wind that had stirred up and Myserleigh could see droplets spatter off of her as the fabric flipped and cracked in the breeze. She must be chilled to the bone already and they'd not gotten beyond Ludgate.

Good. He told himself he should not feel so sorry for her. Instead, he should be thrilled that this rain came up when it did, when he could so easily return the girl to wherever it was that she came from. Surely this would be more than enough to convince her to give up her silly plan.
She could stay here warm and dry, and he could continue on in relative peace. Cold and wet.

"Did you get the gift?" she asked cheerfully when he was close enough for her to see him from under her wilted bonnet and the draping of oil cloth.

"I did. Are you soaked through?"

"Not entirely. I daresay I'll get a good deal wetter as the day goes on."

How could she possibly sound so cheerful? He'd barely been out in this for half a minute and he was decidedly not cheerful about it. Clearly the girl needed some help.

"You can't seriously mean to continue with this!"
he said.

"You mean you do not?"

"Of course I'll continue. I've made a commitment and I always keep my word."

"As do I."

Damn. That was the wrong tack. He'd need to appeal to her more feminine side, apparently. He stowed the parcel securely, climbed into his seat, prodded the horse into motion, and tried to adopt a more patronizing tone.

"Commendable, I'm sure, but my sister
is a young lady, like yourself. She would understand if you chose to stay behind. You could wait for better weather, or buy a seat in a comfortable coach. No gentlewoman should have to put herself through this."

"But the pony is supposed to arrive there for Christmas."

"And she will. I'll take her."

"I see. You are saying I'm not needed."

"I didn't say that." He did think it though.

"You implied it."

"I implied that sitting in the rain for two days might be unpleasant and uncomfortable for you. I merely reminded you there are other options. More ladylike options."

"I don't need
ladylike options. You do not need to decide these things for me, sir."

Bother the stubborn chit! Was she seriously prepared to go on this way?

"I was thinking of your health, Miss Meriwether."

"There is nothing at all wrong with my health."

"There very well could be if you persist on riding through the cold and the rain all day today and tomorrow."

"Then perhaps you should be concerned about
your
health and I'll go on without
you
."

By God, the woman was most vexing.

"Thank you, but I'll take my chances," he grumbled.

"
Excellent. It seems we are agreed. We both prefer to continue."

"No,
I'd
prefer to take you home."

"Well, you can't."

"I daresay I can! Give me the direction and I will prove it to you."

"
Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have a home, sir. There is no place to take me even if I were to request it. Now if you could possibly convince your nag to move just a bit faster, perhaps we might drive away from the rain. Surely there will be some break to it between here and West Timley."

A break in the rain?
Given the way his luck had been so far he would not bet on that. He would bet, however, there was something significant behind the chit's statement. What could she mean, she had no home? Everyone had a home, didn't they? Perhaps it was not a very nice home—certainly not nearly the standard she would be expecting at Estelle's grand house—but a home nonetheless. She must simply be eager to improve her lot by making this journey.

Then again, she must be expecting
huge improvement indeed if she was so determined to suffer the uncomfortable wagon, two days on the road, and now the cold and the rain. Perhaps what she said was correct. Perhaps the woman did not have a home. Could it be possible?

"
Where
is
your home, Miss Meriwether?" he asked.

"I told you. I haven't any."

"Well you can't have sprouted from a tree. You must have lived somewhere at one time or another. Where was it?"

"Most recently I've been living in London. Do you suppose we could ride in silence, perhaps? I find the sound of the rain soothing."

Soothing? Blast the girl, no one could find this pelting drizzle
soothing
. She was simply trying to shush him. The earl did not take well to being shushed.

So she did not wish to discuss her past, did she? Obviously there was something she wanted to hide, or at least to avoid. What was it? Improper connections? Scandal of some sort? Had she spent a miserable childhood?
He was determined not to be curious about it, but of course he couldn't help himself. The woman clearly had something of interest in her past and perhaps there were things Estelle did not know about.

If he was forced to spend the next two days of his life in close proximity with the mysterious Miss Meriwether,
Myserleigh decided he owed it to his sister to find out what he could about her. Was she competent to fill the roles it seemed Estelle wished to hire her for? Or was she some sort of sham, looking to take advantage of his sister's naive and generous nature? By God, he would know the answer to that before he let her pass over his sister's threshold.

Carole was thankful that he allowed her to be silent. For a moment or two she was afraid he might insist on discussing her family, a thing she was determined not to do. Some things were just too painful to recall, both the good and the bad memories. She had no intention of letting him see how vulnerable she still was on that subject. Best to just avoid it all together.

They were rolling through the outskirts of London now. The rain had, indeed, let up just a bit, but the wind was still whipping about and sending a chill straight through Carole. She was as miserable as she'd ever been and it was all she could do not to let it show on her face. The involuntary chattering of her teeth, however, likely gave it away. She set her jaw as firmly as possible, determined to give the earl no reason to continue his efforts to be rid of her.

She was going to Estelle's and that was all there was to it. She would focus on that, nothing else. This cold, this rain, the bruises from bouncing about in the ragged old wagon meant nothing. Her only hope was surviving this journey and making herself so completely invaluable to Estelle's little family that they might never ask her to leave.

"I believe this is our next stop,"
the earl said as he pulled their wagon up to a halt.

Carole glanced out from under her drooping bonnet and noted a shop that was more of a cottage than an actual shop. The shingle hanging outside, however, identified it as an establishment that dealt with confections. Ah, but how tempting it was to dream of such things. She'd best not, though. Dreaming often led to remembering and that often led to weeping. She was already damp enough. Tears were not welcome today.

"I'll wait here," she said, not willing to trust herself to actually walk into a place like that.

"I'll try to hurry," he said. "We've still got to get all the way to
Basingstoke by nightfall. We can spend the night there and have a shorter leg of the journey tomorrow."

She nodded. The idea of having to spend the night on the road
did not exactly fill her with peace and goodwill, but it was just one more thing to be endured. Highly irregular, of course, but there was no doubt the earl would behave in a gentlemanly manner. Carole trusted her friend's arrangements. Estelle knew her brother and would never have encouraged Carole to travel with him if she did not believe him perfectly respectable.

Actually, Carole realized that trying to even imagine the dour earl pressing his advantage over
her was laughable. So laughable, in fact, it was a bit insulting. The man had been nothing but cool toward her thus far. Not once had she caught him stealing a glance at her very wet skirts plastered suggestively against her legs. Not even for a moment did he peek her way, hoping to catch a glimpse of an ankle when she had climbed into the wagon or perhaps gawk over an accentuated bosom as she arranged herself into the uncomfortable seat. What was she to make of that? Why, when Carole had lived at Mrs. Cowan's Rooming House even the old man who carried her coal had tried to peek occasionally.

But not the earl.
He hardly seemed to notice she was female at all, except for the fact that he seemed to think all females were eager to give up on a task when things happened to be a little unpleasant. Well, he would find out that his preconception was wrong. She was very much a female, but she was not the simpering, incapable kind. She was the kind who could endure.

She'd endure the jostling, the
weather, and even his lordship's utter lack of regard for her. It was his own loss that he insisted on thinking so little of her. He was missing out on lively conversation and a friendly exchange of ideas. Not to mention, the view of two very fine ankles. Yes, it was his loss, indeed.

"Here, Take this."

His voice jolted her out of her snit and she glanced over to find him returned, reaching to hand her a small parcel and a mug. There was steam coming up off of the latter and she was tempted to dive in. Warmth!

But she made herself not appear too eager. "What is this?"

"Take this tea before I drop everything."

She quickly did as he instructed. Yes, by heavens, the mug that he offered her did indeed contain tea. Wonderful tea! Tea that was hot and smelled so good she could hardly stop
inhaling the aroma long enough to take a sip.

He deposited the small parcel on her lap and produced a larger one that had been tucked under his arm. That one he placed into the back of the wagon, carefully
stashed under the oilcloth. She watched as he then swung himself up into his seat.

"So that is the gift for your sister?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And this?" she indicated the parcel on her lap.

"I thought you might be peckish so I brought you something to eat."

She eyed him suspiciously. When he said nothing more but simply went about the business of getting the wagon into motion she gingerly felt into the parcel with one hand while still clutching the blessed tea with the other. She drew her hand out slowly, bringing with it the most marvelous sight.

"Sticky buns!"

"I hope you like those. It's a bit late in the day so their stock was depleted and I did not have much choice."

"I love sticky buns!"

"Good. Eat them."

"But... there must be half a dozen! I can't eat them all. Here. You should have one."

"I don't wish to get my gloves dirty."

"Oh, your gloves will clean. Please, you must be hungry, too. Have one."

She was certain he would refuse, but he surprised her instead. He took the sticky bun that she offered and bit into it. So he was human, after all.

"I supposed I would do well with something to eat."

"And these are delightful," she agreed, showing great restraint and not devouring two or three as if she'd not eaten in days. In fact, it had only been since yesterday.

"I'm glad you approve."

"Yes. Thank you for thinking of me."

"It's rather difficult not to, Miss Meriwether. You are taking up half of my bench, after all."

Her back went up to be offended again, but a quick glance his way let her see that he was kidding her. Will wonders never cease, but the man wore something akin to a smile on his face! My, but what a difference it made to his face, too. She'd thought him
too stern and overly angular to be considered the usual sort of attractive. But now, as he was smiling at her even just a bit, she couldn't help but revise her opinion.

The Earl of
Bahumburg was quite a handsome man. And he'd brought her tea and sticky buns without even being asked! Her heart did a little flutter in her chest. Well, this was an unexpected turn. She'd best put all such silliness away from her right this very moment. There was not any part of her life that would benefit from attributing softer qualities to Estelle's cold, formidable older brother.

Not that she was entirely prepared to continue hating him, though. Perhaps the sticky buns were his way of calling a truce, of acknowledging that they were stuck with each other's company and should simply make the best of it. Very well, she could certainly do that. Perhaps she'd been silent long enough.

"The sticky buns smell heavenly," she said, starting on her second one. "Whatever Estelle ordered in that other package smells very lovely, too."

"
Mincemeat pies. These are apparently made from some special recipe her husband always insists on for the holiday. I don't know why she can't have her own staff at Bexley Manor make them, but she insisted I buy them here."

"Perhaps having
Mr. Bexley's favorite food on hand will help speed his recovery."

"I believe that is Estelle's hope."

"She's been very worried for him. I could tell from the tone of her letters that his infection has been quite taxing."

"Yes, I detected the same. I hope by the time we arrive there some improvement in his condition will be notable."

"I hope so, too. It's hard to see someone you love suffering and be helpless to bring any comfort."

It was, perhaps, too much to say, but fortunately the earl did not question her for specifics. He merely nodded and finished off his sticky bun. She offered another but he claimed to be full. He insisted, though, that she help herself
to more. So she did.

How long had it been since she'd actually eaten until she was full? Ages and ages. And having the
spicy-sweet scent of the pies in the package behind her filling the air, her appetite seemed in no hurry to leave. She enjoyed her third sticky bun and drank the full rest of the tea.

For the first time since they'd left the mews, she wasn't completely miserable.

"Feel better now?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes. Thank you.
But should we really continue on? I need to return their mug."

"No. That is now yours. I bought it."

"You bought the tea
and
the mug?"

"I could hardly be guilty of stealing it, could I? No, you needed some warming and there is no time to sit around and wait for you to drink."

"So you bought the mug."

"It was reasonable, I assure you."

"But... thank you."

"You're welcome."

Drat. How was she to remain oblivious to his apparent finer qualities when he surprised her by doing thoughtful things like this? Her insides erupted into the most unsettling little dance and she had to take several deep breaths and two sips of tea before she could think of something dreary to say.

"
Are your gloves salvageable?" she asked.

"As you said, they will clean," he replied. "But I notice you don't have to worry about that. It appears you have no gloves, Miss Meriwether."

No, they'd been sold the day before the money from Estelle had arrived. The weather had been milder then and she'd meant to use some of the new funds to replace them, but simply never had.

"I suppose that is not very clever of me," she said.

"Or perhaps it is very clever," he said. "Now you have no reason to avoid sticky buns and I must take care to find you another mug of hot tea to keep warm when we come into the next village."

"You've found me out, sir. I am
cleverness personified."

"I thought as much."

There was still just enough hint of that smile at the corners of his lips to make her vow to stop glancing at him. He was becoming more appealing to her by the minute and she didn't much like that. It did make her feel remarkably warm on the inside, though, and that was a good thing. She pulled the oilcloth around her and clutched the bag with the remaining sticky buns.

The one wonderful thing
—very likely the
only
wonderful thing—about poverty was the fact that it truly allowed a person to appreciate every morsel of sweetness, every memory of past pleasure, and every deed done in kindness. The earl would no doubt go back to his usual surly self long before they arrived at Estelle's, but Carole would at least allow a few moments of gratitude for his smile and those sticky buns.

Despite the rain and the wet roads,
Myserleigh realized they were actually making fairly good time. He began to hope that they might get to the inn in Basingstoke long before sunset tonight. That would allow them to make an early morning of it and arrive at Estelle's just after noon on Christmas Day. A warm fire and a hot bath would be waiting for him. After all this time spent in the wet and the chill, those things seemed like a fantastical dream. He could only imagine how his shivering companion managed to keep from complaining.

Heaven knew that if he'd been with one of his male
cohorts instead of in delicate company he'd have had plenty to say about the misery of their situation. For Miss Meriwether's sake, however, he kept quiet. He was most impressed that she did the same.

Nearly an hour now they ridden in silence. Never before had he met a woman who could keep silent for that long, let alone one who must have had ample reason to speak up. He glanced over to make sure she was still breathing.

She was. The oilcloth was pulled low over her face to keep the wind off her, but even as she huddled in a stooped pile on the bench beside him he could detect the rise and fall of her chest. She was not sleeping. She'd have fallen off by now if she was. She was simply sitting there, arms wrapped around her with the drab cloth giving whatever protection it could.

Silent.
Somehow.

What a perplexing woman she was. How did she come to be known to Estelle? He couldn't recall his sister ever mentioning a Meriwether person, but he had to admit he'd never really paid much attention to Estelle's ramblings about her friends. She'd
seemed to have hundreds of them, after all. What Myserleigh had paid attention to were her suitors. She'd had nearly hundreds of those, too. Most were worthless and Myserleigh sent them off with their tails between their legs. When Bexley refused to be turned away so easily, however, Myserleigh began to take note.

He thought the man too young, of course
. The third son of a rural baron, John Bexley was barely into his twenties when Estelle made her come out. Other much more prominent young men paid her notice and Myserleigh had high hopes for them, by the end of Estelle's first Season she informed her brother she would accept no other; it was Bexley or no one for her.