The Yuletide Countess: Harriet's Traditional Regency Romance (12 page)

Some hours
later the painting had been completed, and the ladies had just enjoyed a light
luncheon when Glencairn, Lord Francis, and Douglas returned from shooting,
bursting with enthusiasm and ruddy from the cold air and exercise.  Harriet
gazed discreetly at Glencairn’s strong shoulders, broad chest, and the powerful
thighs rising from his boots, and felt a matching blush rise to her own face. 

“Will there be
pheasant at the dinner table tonight?” Isobel asked playfully, interrupting
Harriet’s contemplation.           

“Indeed there
will,” Francis replied. “Douglas is an excellent shot.  He has a good eye, and
the knack for following the birds.  He bagged more than I did, to be sure.” 

He glanced
over at the table.  “I see that you ladies have not consumed the entire lunch. 
Several hours in the cold have given me an appetite, so perhaps we can see what
inroads we may be able to make on the remainder.”

The gentlemen
looked eager to eat, so the ladies drifted away, Miss Dalburn reminding Douglas
that he was expected to join Sophy for lessons when he had eaten.  When they
had finished, Douglas, with some grumbling, disappeared to the schoolroom as
requested and Glencairn rose from the table.

“Perhaps a
game of billiards and a little whiskey will rid us of any lingering chill,” he
suggested.

“It sounds
like just the thing,” Lord Francis replied cheerfully. “Otherwise, you will
soon find me snoring in the library.”

They repaired
to the billiards room, where Lord Francis racked the balls and spent a few
minutes choosing a cue from the selection that hung on the wall.  Glencairn
poured two whiskeys, and handed one to Lord Francis, who idly shot the cue ball
a few times to assess the table.

After the
break, the two gentlemen played for a few minutes in companionable silence, the
roar of the fire in the hearth a pleasant counterpoint to the clicking of the
balls.  After missing his shot, Glencairn gazed thoughtfully into his glass as
Lord Francis concentrated on the table. 

 “I’m glad
that I didn’t suggest we wager on the outcome, as I can see that you are a far
better player than I,” observed Glencairn after the ball had dropped.

“I played a
great deal with my brother,” Lord Francis said. “But with such good company, I
don’t need a wager to add interest to the game.”

 “The company
is the point in more ways than one,” said Glencairn slowly.  “We haven’t had a
moment to speak directly of this until now, but I’m sure that my objective in
asking you to make this journey at such a difficult time of year cannot have
escaped you.”

“Certainly
not,” Lord Francis responded with a smile. “Although when we received your
letter, Isobel and I were surprised; both of us had been quite unaware of your
interest in Miss Walcott until that moment.”

“You were not
alone in that,” Glencairn answered a bit heavily. “I was also in the dark about
the true nature of my interest in Miss Walcott until she turned down my offer
of marriage.”

Francis’
eyebrows rose. “Sometimes being parted from the object of your affections
brings the realization that your emotions are stronger than you thought.  When
I left Kitswold last spring I thought the future Lady Francis a very handsome
woman with a lively wit.  But within a week of returning home, I knew that I
must seek her out and make her mine.  I assume that you discovered that you
missed Harriet after she left Ballydendargan.” 

“Her departure
certainly made me realize what a fool I had been to think she was nothing more
to me than a female who met all my requirements in a wife.” Glencairn
responded.

“Miss Walcott
has spent a great deal of time with Isobel,” Francis observed.  “I expect that
she has acquired more of her point of view than you might expect of a lady long
on the shelf.”

“Perhaps that
is it,” Glencairn answered. “For as you must have realized, she turned me down
quite firmly.  I must own that I was astonished.”

“Don’t lose
hope,” Lord Francis advised him cheerfully. “Lady Francis turned me down twice,
assuring me that she would never put her head in the parson’s mousetrap to
become some man’s chattel, before I won her over.”

Glencairn
appeared rather shocked at this revelation.  “She turned you down twice, and
still you pursued her?”

“I think you
will agree that she is a very special woman,” Lord Francis answered. “As I
surmise that your intention is to make a second proposal of marriage to Miss
Walcott, I offer my example as encouragement to try again.”

“And I mean to
take it,” said the earl stoutly.  “I believe that I cannot be happy without her
daily presence.”

Francis took a
sip of his whiskey. “I can understand Harriet’s reluctance if you did indeed
speak to her as though she was merely a collection of good points, rather like
a horse you were considering purchasing. She is a very warm-hearted person, who
loves those close to her fiercely, and has a deep need to be loved by them in
turn. I am sure she would find it painful to feel great affection toward a
husband who could not return some portion of those sentiments.”

“That was
indeed how I broached the matter,” Glencairn admitted.  “I realized over the
course of the summer that I need to remarry, and was dreading the notion of
spending months in London seeking a new wife, when I noticed that Miss Walcott
had all the birth, breeding, and manners I sought, and was very fond of my
children besides.  So that is how I phrased my offer of marriage.”

“I have
observed Miss Walcott more closely since receiving your letter and it is clear
to me that she is not indifferent to you Glencairn. I think her heart is still
yours to claim, but as her friend and yours, I hope you will not hurt her
further by professing to love where you do not.”

Glencairn
laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, I am truly a case of absence making the heart grow
fonder.  Less than a week after Miss Walcott’s departure I found myself missing
her company—not merely because my children or their governess are so fond of
her, but because I missed strolling in the gardens with her, discussing the
household, even her tales of London and the social life I have shunned for the
last decade.”

Lord Francis,
who valued Harriet’s caring disposition, but could scarcely imagine pining for
her chatter about friends and relatives, realized that Glencairn must truly
love her.  “Miss Walcott has been very busy with your children and the rest of
us since our arrival.  Perhaps some time alone with her would help your cause,”
he suggested.

Glencairn
turned to him eagerly,  “An excellent notion,” he exclaimed.  “I have not had
her to myself for a moment, and it is difficult to woo a woman in company.”

“I’m sure that
Isobel and I can be quite late for dinner this evening,” Lord Francis chuckled.
“Perhaps a few quiet moments over a glass of sherry will help.”

Glencairn
clapped him on the back. “I welcome your tardiness, and will make good use of
the opportunity.”  He took a swig of his whiskey and turned back to the
billiards table.  “I believe it is my shot.”

Harriet
plucked nervously at the skirt of her dress as she descended the steps to the
main floor of Glencairn Castle.  She had waited in her room as long as she
thought polite, and it was at least ten minutes after the appointed time to
meet in the drawing room before dinner.  It was against her nature not to be
prompt, but the thought of arriving before Francis and Isobel and being made to
spend time alone with Lord Glencairn filled her with dread.  Surely he thought
her a foolish creature for turning down his proposal, and a weak-willed one for
agreeing to return to Scotland.

It had,
however, been a lovely day, she reflected.  Her time spent with Sophy and
Catherine had been very happy, and she was glad, despite everything, to see
Ballydendargan and Glencairn at Christmastime.  Glencairn might have been built
for this festivity, with its huge fireplaces that blasted out warmth, the
towering ceilings that held shadows not even the brightest torch could reach,
and the warmth of its ancient oak wainscoting.  Her fingers drifted along the
burnished wood of the cunningly carved banister, thinking of the generations of
Learmouths who had lived in this home and of how very lucky they were.

When she
reached the foot of the stairs she dismissed her fanciful notions and, drawing
a deep breath and setting her shoulders firmly, marched into the drawing room. 
Expecting to find Francis and Isobel as well as Glencairn awaiting her, she had
a smile on her face and an explanation for her tardiness hovering on her lips. 
It died abruptly, however, when she realized the room held only Lord Glencairn,
very elegantly attired in in a black coat, with biscuit hued knee breeches.  A
single watchfob dangled from his white waistcoat, and his neckcloth was a
successful example of the difficult waterfall knot. He stood with his back to
the fireplace, his white hair shining in the candlelight, with his hands
clasped behind him, and she thought once again, with a sinking sensation, what
a fine figure of man he was.

“Lord
Glencairn,” she faltered, her excuse fading from her mind.

“Miss
Walcott,” he said, moving forward and taking her hand in his.  “How delightful
you look tonight.”

She glanced
down at herself, her thoughts so muddled that she scarcely remembered what she
wore.  “Oh, thank you, my lord,” she breathed.  “You look very elegant as
well.”

Lord Glencairn
tugged briefly at his cuff.  “That is very kind of you, Miss Walcott.  I sometimes
think that, living retired as I do, I have quite failed to keep up with the
latest fashions.  I would not want to be thought out of date.”

“Not at all,
my lord.  You are always dressed most correctly, and, indeed, with excellent
taste.”  Harriet flushed, realizing that he might interpret her comment as an
admission that she paid a great deal of attention to his appearance.  “Not that
I am expert in these things,” she hastened to assure him.  “Isobel is so much
more aware of fashions than I am, but I am sure she would agree with me—not
that she pays particular attention to how others dress, it is only that she has
such an excellent eye for color and style, and she does care a great deal about
her own clothing, and of course, she is a great help when I wish to choose a
dress,” she concluded breathlessly.

“No doubt,”
said Lord Glencairn.  “I’m glad that you approve of my appearance.”

Harriet grew
pinker.  “It is not my place to have such an opinion, my lord.  You are, after
all, master of this home, and anything you do must be thought appropriate.” She
glanced around anxiously.  “Wherever could Lord and Lady Francis be?”

“Lady Francis
is doubtless lingering over her toilette,” said Lord Glencairn.  “You did just
tell me how she takes great care with her appearance.”

“She does, but
she is not vain at all,” said Harriet hastily.  “I would not have you think
that she is empty-headed, or thinks too highly of herself.  She is very
gracious, you know, and so lovely that it can hardly matter if she spends time
primping.  It is not like her to be tardy; I wonder if she needs me as she did
not bring her maid with her on this journey.  Perhaps I will go upstairs and
see if all is well.”

She turned
toward the door, but Lord Glencairn gently took her hand in his and led her to
a settee near the fire.

“Nonsense. 
Lady Francis has a husband to help her now, and, if she has need of you, be
sure that there are dozens of servants who could fetch you at any time.  I am
sure that she and Lord Francis will be along at any moment.  May I bring you a
glass of sherry?”

Harriet seated
herself on the very edge of the settee and looked up at him, her eyes wide. 
“Yes, sherry would be wonderful,” she answered, thinking that perhaps two
sherries would be even more welcome.  She watched Lord Glencairn pour the
golden-brown liquid into a fine crystal
copita
and return to her.  She
was pleased to see that her hand shook only slightly as she took the glass,
careful to avoid touching his fingers.

Lord Glencairn
seated himself across from her and smiled gently.  He cradled a brandy snifter
in one hand, and Harriet forced herself to not watch his long fingers as they
balanced the crystal vessel.

“I must thank
you, Miss Walcott, for agreeing to accompany Lord and Lady Francis to
Glencairn,” he said.  “I’m sure the trip was long and dull, and I can only hope
that you find your stay here pleasant.”

“It was not as
dull as it might have been.  Isobel is an entertaining traveling companion, and
I think she was glad of my presence, for Lord Francis insisted on riding for
most of the journey, and she might have been very bored without me to chat
with,” Harriet assured him.  “And, while I had not planned to come to Scotland
for Christmas, it is very beautiful here, and it will be a pleasant memory for many
years to come.  I am also pleased to see Sophia and Douglas, and my dear Miss
Dalburn, who I have missed a great deal.”

“Perhaps it
will not be only a memory,” said Lord Glencairn.

“What?”
faltered Harriet.

“I only meant
that perhaps you will be at Glencairn Castle for another Christmas,” he
answered.

Harriet’s eyes
widened.  “It is a long journey, as you said, and I doubt Lord Francis would
wish to come here every year; he must go to Strancaster from time to time, I’m
sure, and Isobel will wish to be at Kitswold as well, I do imagine.  And my
sister, Mrs. Benderly, has lovely children, and of course I expect to be with
her some years.  But perhaps one day, when Sophia is wed, it might be pleasant
to come back and visit with her.”

“That will be
many years from now,” observed Lord Glencairn.  “I will hope to see you here
long before then.”

Harriet cast
an anguished glance at the door.  “Goodness, it is not like Isobel to be this
late,” she said.  She took a gulp of her sherry. 

“I’m sure they
will appear soon,” said Glencairn soothingly.  “Sophy has told me how delighted
she is to see you, Miss Walcott.  I believe she has missed you dreadfully these
past months.”

“Dear Sophy,”
said Harriet.  “I have missed her as well.  But she is a young lady now, and
will very soon be far busier.  You must be sure, my lord, that she makes
friends with other young women in the area, and spends time with them.  It is
not only gentlemen that she needs to be able to converse with.  A woman who
does not have close companions among her own sex is a lonely person indeed.”

“I will
remember that,” said the earl.  “You are very wise, Miss Walcott.”

Harriet
blinked.  “Thank you, my lord.  Though I think most people find me a bit
rattle-brained.  Wisdom is not considered to be one of my finer traits.”

“Most people
are wrong, then,” said Lord Glencairn firmly.

Harriet tossed
off the rest of her glass of sherry, hoping she would thus be able to avoid
answering him, and wracking her brains for a new topic of conversation.