Be My Bride (18 page)

Justinian waited, the no more answer was forthcoming. “Christmas?” he wagered a guess.

“Just so, my lord,” Faringil agreed.

“How many days away now?” Justinian asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Three days, my lord?” Faringil tried hopefully.

Justinian rolled his eyes. “Good God, man, it’s perfectly all right to have an opinion on something that is a matter of fact. Is it or is it not three days to Christmas?”

The footman paused in their work, throwing not-so-covert glances over their shoulders at the butler, who was reddening. “If his lordship thinks there are three days,” Faringil replied solemnly, “there are three days.”

“And if his lordship thinks it’s a balmy summer’s day?” Justinian countered, exasperated.

“Then,” Eleanor replied, exiting the parlor with an armload of holly, “his lordship will be noted as having taken leave of his senses, and life will continue.”

The footmen’s eyes widened in amazement. Faringil choked on whatever he was going to say, covering it with a discrete cough behind his hand. Justinian found himself grinning.

He swept her a bow. “Ah, the sweet voice of reason at last. I take it this is all your idea.”

Eleanor felt herself blushing. “Actually, your mother got me started. We thought we might decorate the house for Dottie. You will be going to get her the day after tomorrow, won’t you?”

Justinian nodded. “I will indeed. And by the looks of it, this will be a festive homecoming.”

“I hope so,” Eleanor said. “We’ve gathered greenery for all the rooms, and Mary and the other maids are making boughs for the mantles and doorways. Now, if I can just keep Jingles from helping with the decoration, all should be well.”

“How is your little charge?” he asked, noting the way the greenery brought out the color in her cheeks.
Black was entirely wrong for her
, he thought.
I should ask the school to change its teachers’ uniforms to something less somber, pink perhaps
. He blinked the absurd thought away.

“He is well,” Eleanor replied. She straightened, then continued resolutely. “That is, he is as well as I have been able to make him. I do hope, with Dottie coming home and me leaving right after Christmas, that someone will be given charge of him?”

“That’s right; you’re leaving.” Somehow that thought was the most important of any she’d voiced. The new year seemed to stretch on drearily.

Eleanor bowed her head. “That was my plan,” she replied, knowing that at least four pairs of ears were keenly listening to her response. “I have been given no reason to change it.”

He started, and she hoped perhaps he had understood. Before she could glance up to be certain, she spied a black tail disappearing into the dining room. “Oh, dear!”

“What?” Justinian snapped, clearly pulled out of another thought.

She dropped a quick curtsey. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must see to the kitten.” She hurried around the stair toward the dining room.

“Infernal animal,” Justinian muttered. Had he understood her correctly? Was she actually encouraging him to offer? He watched her disappear into the darkened room. Around him, the footmen quickly busied themselves with their work, moving farther up the stair with each turn of the boughs. Nonchalantly, Justinian crossed the entry and wandered down the corridor to the entrance to the dining room.

As his mother took her dinners in her room and he had been taking his in the library, the room hadn’t been used since his brother died. He was surprised to find the long oval table polished, with a silver epergne of greenery in the center. More boughs draped the silk-hung walls, and ivy wreathed the back of the sideboard. The silver chandelier glittered brightly in the light from the corridor, and he thought each of the hundred-some candles were new.

The room appeared to be empty. “Miss Eleanor?” he ventured, his voice echoing to the ceiling high above. “Norrie?”

There was a muted thud and a muffled cry. They sounded from very near the floor. Frowning, he bent and peered under the table. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine,” came the response from somewhere down the table. “I’ll be out directly.”

He strolled along the row of lyre-backed chairs, head cocked to scan under the table. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, completely. If you’d just be so kind as to go away.”

Justinian paused raising an eyebrow. “Go away? Why?”

As if in answer, Jingles strutted out from under the table. He stalked past Justinian and paused impressively in the doorway, eyeing him with apparent disfavor. Then he turned his back on Justinian and began washing himself.

Justinian turned his gaze to the table in time to see Norrie backing out from under it on all fours. He was ashamed to admit it was a rather fetching picture, but when she turned and saw him, he suddenly wished he had found some other way to occupy his time. Her lips were compressed, and her eyes snapped fire.

“I distinctly told you to go away,” she clipped out, stalking past him every bit as stiffly as the kitten had done.

“Ah, but you see, this is my house,” Justinian replied, hurrying to catch up with her.

“And that should be your kitten,” Eleanor countered, averting her gaze, hoping her embarrassment could be hidden beneath her anger. “I fail to see why I must continually take care of him.”

“Simply because you’re so very good at it,” Justinian answered truthfully. He touched her shoulder, stopping her, then managed to secure her hands in his own. “You take care of everyone near you. I must thank you for being so kind to my mother. She has been rather gruff of late. She tells me she shall miss you greatly.”

“I’ll miss her too,” Eleanor said with sigh. “But I must move on. You understand, don’t you?”

Suddenly, he didn’t understand at all. Still, he tried to remain congenial. “I don’t understand, actually, but as you have pointed out, we do seem to be different people these days. However, I have not forgotten my manners. I was trying to thank you, for doing this for my mother, and for Dottie.” He glanced about the room again, and his gaze lit on the bough that had been hung over the dining room door. The shape and make of the materials were unmistakable. He could feel the grin spreading. “And I must compliment Mary on her work as well. That is the finest kissing bough I have ever seen.”

Eleanor glanced up, horrified. The mistletoe and apples stood out in the dim light. She glanced wildly out the door, but the footmen and Mr. Faringil must be nearly at the top of the stair, for they were nowhere in sight. She was quite alone, with Justinian.

He could see she was frightened, but he could not seem to stop himself. If he was branded as being in love, perhaps it was time he started acting like it. “It would be a shame to waste such a lovely kissing bough,” he murmured, bending his head to hers.

His kiss was like nothing she had dreamed. No poem he had ever read to her, no story she had imagined captured the sweet fire of it. The love she had felt for him all those years welled up inside her, adding to the warmth of his embrace, making her press herself against him, returning his kiss with all her heart. She willed the moment never to end, prayed that he would feel what she felt at that moment, for if he did, surely he would never let her go again.

But he did let her go, drawing a shaky breath and gazing down at her with a warmth in his eyes that took away what little breath she had remaining. Norrie could only stare at him. His lips looked as warmed and swollen as hers felt.

“Norrie,” he started, voice husky. “Forgive me. I should never have . . . .”

Her heart nearly broke at his words. She held up a hand and sealed his mouth, feeling the sweet pressure of his lips against her fingers. “No, please, don’t. I don’t want to hear apologies. I’ve always wished I knew what it was like to kiss you. Thank you for granting that wish. You needn’t worry I’ll read too much into it. I know my place.”

“Your place!” The force of his words pushed her hand away. “After a kiss like that, your only place is with me.”

Eleanor paled, stepping away from him. How could he, after what they had shared? Was her love so cheap after all that all she was worthy of was to be his mistress? She bent and scooped up Jingles, thrusting the kitten into Justinian’s arms. “My place,” she said clearly, “is below stairs, with the other servants. At least they have some dignity. I pray you’ll leave me a little of it and not mention that subject again.”

Head high, she stalked from the room. Shaken and confused, Justinian could only peer after her, noting that before she even reached the door to the kitchen, Norrie Pritchett was running as if her life depended on it.

Chapter Nine

Justinian Darby prided himself on being a scholar, but he was the first to admit he knew very little about women. After his encounter with Norrie two days ago, he was prepared to admit he knew nothing. He had puzzled and puzzled over her reaction, but he could not understand it. The only conclusion he could reach was that she had mistaken his comments for an offer of a carte blanche, but that made little sense. He would hardly offer someone like Norrie the opportunity to be his mistress. In the first place, she was entirely too much of a lady to even think of doing anything so reprehensible, and, in the second place, surely she knew he would never dishonor her. Still, he had felt it only proper to honor her request and leave her alone, at least until he understood his own mind.

Now, after two days of pondering, he was no closer to understanding her, but he knew what he wanted. If there was any good thing that might come from his being made the earl, it was that he was now the one to make the decisions. And he had decided that the best thing he could possibly do with his life was to marry Norrie. Now, all he had to do was convince her of that fact.

He was feeling rather optimistic when he arrived at the Barnsley School just before lunch to retrieve Dottie for the Christmas holiday. Unfortunately, that was the last time he was to feel optimistic for quite some time. Miss Martingale, the head mistress, was her usual obsequious self, fawning over him from the moment he arrived. Her attitude set his teeth on edge. Given all the matters on his mind, he supposed it wasn’t surprising when he cut short her excessively long welcoming speech with a curt, “May I see my niece now?”

Miss Martingale blinked, snapping her mouth shut. She nodded to one of the other staff who had been assembled to receive him, and he offered the mousy little woman a grateful nod. As she scuttled from the room, he was thankful that Norrie had somehow managed not to be infected by the sheer subservient attitude that seemed to dominate the place. Perhaps she was right in having him remove Dottie permanently.

Thinking of Norrie made him remember that he should at least thank Miss Martingale for letting them appropriate her. “Miss Pritchett seems quite recovered from her illness,” he offered as they waited in what was becoming a rather chilly silence.

The large head mistress affixed him with a cold stare. “Indeed. I wish her well.”

“I’m not sure when we will be returning her to you,” Justinian continued. “My mother seems to have taken a fancy to her.”
Not to mention the fancy I seem to have taken
, he added silently. He wondered how the woman would react if he succeeded in getting Norrie to marry him. The scandal would be one of the few ever to enliven the Darby reputation, but he was certain his family name would survive.

Miss Martingale frowned, and he was sure any child seeing such a face would run screaming for the door. “Am I to understand, my lord, that you have taken that woman in?”

Something in her tone told him this conversation was going to unnerve him. “I must object to you referring to Miss Pritchett as ‘that woman,’” he replied. “But yes, she is staying with us. My mother asked that she remain until Christmas. I thought you had been informed. My apologies for detaining her from her duties. You must have been frantic.”

“As she was released from her duties in early December, I had no reason to care as to her whereabouts,” Miss Martingale declared. “I must say, I’m very sorry to see that she finally managed to ingratiate herself into your family, my lord. Your father warned me about her years ago, but I thought that he and I together had curbed her tendency to think beyond her station. Unfortunately, only recently I realized she was using Lady Dorothea to weasel her way into the Darby’s affections. Of course, I summarily sacked the wretched woman.”

Justinian stared at her. “Are you trying to tell me that Norrie Pritchett is a social climber, a fortune hunter?”

“I regret to say that I believe so, my lord. I tried to teach her otherwise, but I seem to have failed. I hope you know, Lord Wenworth, that I expect all my teachers, and my students as well, to know their places in life.”

Justinian flinched as she echoed the words Norrie had used only days before. “I can only say that you must be mistaken, Miss Martingale,” he replied. The coolness of his tone was not lost on the head mistress, who paled.

“Of course, my lord. You would know better than I.”

It was all Justinian could do not to close his eyes in frustration at the familiar reframe.

His spirits nearly recovered on the ride home with Dottie, who fairly bounced in her seat beside him in the sleigh. The snow that had started a week ago had continued off and on so that the fields lay under a blanket as white as the countess’ counterpane, with the Mendip Hills in the distance piled as high as her pillows.

“And Jingles is really waiting for me?” Dottie asked him for what was surely the fourth time since leaving the school.

Justinian smiled. “Yes, he is really waiting for you. Your Miss Eleanor has been taking very good care of him.” He paused, eyeing his niece. “Miss Eleanor is very good at taking care of people, isn’t she, Dottie?”

Dottie bit her lip, lowering her eyes, and Justinian’s fears increased. “Miss Martingale and Miss Lurkin say I was unkind to Miss Eleanor,” she murmured. “It isn’t right to make friends with people not of one’s class. It gives the wrong impression and encourages coaching.”

Justinian frowned. “I think the word you’re looking for is encroachment, Dottie. And Miss Martingale and Miss Lurkin are no doubt teaching you what they believe is right; however, you must form your own opinions on that matter.”