Home for the Holidays (8 page)

“Did my physician attend to your brother yesterday?” was his forgotten question.

“Yes.”

“Good. I wanted to make sure that my servants didn’t
keep him so busy that he might have run out of time to see everyone who needed his attention, but he left before I could speak to him.”

She smiled. “No, I believe he mentioned that Thomas was his first patient of the day.”

“And the boy’s progress?”

“Still recovering nicely, though he must continue bed rest for another week or so.”

“He must have deplored that news.”

“Ah, you remember what it was like to be that age?” she replied.

It was a natural question following his remark, yet it brought an immediate frown to his brow that she couldn’t help wondering about. She refused to ask what caused it, though. The less she knew about him, the better off she would be, she was sure.

So she continued as if he hadn’t just caused her a great deal of curiosity. “Yes, Tommy hates having to remain in bed. He’s never been this ill before, at least not with anything that required such a lengthy convalescence, which is why I try to spend as much time with him as I can. We also had to let go his tutor, so I’ve been filling in there as well. Though with nothing better to do, Tommy is so far ahead in his studies, I don’t know why I bother.”

“Intelligent boy?”

The frown had left as quickly as it came, making her
think she might have imagined it. “Very. It was why he was being taught at home. The headmaster of his last school refused to advance him to a higher age group, yet what he was being taught was nothing that he didn’t already know.”

“Such decisions can be made for other than academic reasons,” he pointed out.

“We’re aware that Tommy will have a difficult time with his peers, if he enters college too young. The teasing began long ago from those his age, because his thinking is more adult in nature than childlike. He will probably work with our father for a few years, then enter college at the appropriate age—at least that was …”

She couldn’t finish, having touched on the probability again that her father wouldn’t be there in the future. Nor had she even thought yet what his continued absence was going to do to his business.

The shipping company wouldn’t be turned over to her for disposal until he was officially declared dead, yet in the meantime it would fail, so there would be nothing left to turn over. She couldn’t run it herself, didn’t have the necessary knowledge to do so. Thomas was too young yet to take over. And the clerk who had been left in charge couldn’t continue indefinitely either, making decisions that were beyond his capabilities.

“That was the plan?” the baron guessed, unwilling to leave the subject alone. “Before what?”

“Before these rumors started, that my father isn’t going to return.”

There was a moment of silence as her eyes glistened with unshed tears which he couldn’t help but notice. “You think he’s dead, don’t you?”

“No!”

Too much emphasis. Too much despair. An obvious lie which he ignored.

“There are countless reasons that could have detained him, none of which include any dire circumstances,” he told her. “You have been inconvenienced by the delay, but there is no reason to think it is anything other than a delay.”

The word he’d chosen, “inconvenienced,” almost brought forward a bitter laugh from her. Was that how he viewed an eviction, as no more than an inconvenience to the tenant? Yet she did realize that he was trying to bolster her hope, which she had finally abandoned. She just wished she could borrow some of his optimism, but it didn’t work. Her own had sustained her this long, but was now gone.

She couldn’t talk to him anymore. The lump in her throat was all but choking her. But there was nothing more to say. She’d already answered his reason for detaining her, that and more.

And then she looked at him. A mistake. She should
have walked out while she still had some of her wits about her. She might have been able to manage a few words in parting at the door. But looking at him, she saw the concern in his golden eyes that he probably didn’t realize was there, and burst into tears. Impossible to stop. Impossible to control.

It was too far from the window to the door. She didn’t make it before his hand was on her shoulder, stopping her, then his arms were gathering her close.

It was what she had needed for several weeks now, a shoulder to cry on. That it was the shoulder of the very person responsible for some of those tears pouring out of her didn’t seem to matter much.

He held her close, and tightly, as if he were overcome with emotion himself. He wasn’t, surely. He was just trying to comfort her and probably wasn’t sure how to go about it, was probably quite unaccustomed to women falling apart in front of him.

It
was
comforting, having his arms around her, his solid chest to lean on, and so nice that she was loath to end it. But when the tears started to dry up, she started to become aware of him in a different way, in the way that so disturbed her and rattled her common sense.

She stepped back quickly, breaking his warm embrace. “Thank you, I’m fine now.”

She wasn’t, but it was the correct thing to say to him.
Unfortunately, he was too perceptive, and blunt enough to remark on it.

“You aren’t.”

She really was, at least for the moment, in the matter that had needed comfort. It was something else altogether making her tremble now. And she was afraid to look at him directly, to see what was in his eyes this time. She suspected that it would be a terrible risk, to subject herself to that molten fire if it was there again. Her emotions were just too fragile at the moment to withstand it.

So she turned away toward the open doorway and even passed through it before she said, “I
will
be.”

Whether he heard her, or would have argued the point, was moot. She didn’t give him a chance to, practically ran all the way to her room.

L
ARISSA HAD BEEN TOLD LAST EVENING, WHEN SHE HAD
gone down to dinner and had eaten it alone, that the baron usually wasn’t at home in the evenings. Quite understandable for a member of the
ton,
particularly during one of the more prominent social Seasons, which was in full swing, to be attending one social gathering or another. So he rarely ate at home, which for her had been good news.

It was why she went downstairs tonight. She wasn’t expecting to see him again that day. Besides, she had no reason to offer to take her meals in her room, so it would be quite rude to do so.

He joined her.

Having assumed he wouldn’t, it was quite disconcerting, watching him walk into the room, offer her a curt nod, and take his seat across from her. Her embarrassment returned over the outburst of tears he’d been witness to that afternoon. Horrid emotion, to be so uncontainable and embarrass her like that. But at the time she hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought of anything except the grief pouring out of her.

He wasn’t going to remark on it, though, for which she was most grateful. He said a few words to the servant who poured his wine. She had declined wine herself, didn’t usually drink it with dinner, but she caught the servant’s eye now and indicated she’d changed her mind. She needed something, anything, to help her get through this meal, now that she wouldn’t be having it alone.

The silence between them was embarrassing in itself. They ought to be talking to each other. It was the civilized thing to do. Surely she could manage some normal conversation that wouldn’t lead to a burst of emotion. And she had Thomas’s request still in mind.

He’d asked her again today about adding their Christmas decorations to the baron’s tree. She didn’t plan to be here for Christmas, hoped to find other accommodations by then, though she didn’t tell Thomas that. And just in
case she had trouble finding a suitable place in time, she really ought to cover the subject with the baron.

It was a simple request, after all. Nor could she imagine why he might deny it. And it was conversation! Desperately needed, because the continued silence was beginning to heat her cheeks.

She began, “I’ve noticed you haven’t brought in a tree yet for Christmas. When do you usually decorate one?”

“I don’t,” he replied simply as he sat back with his wineglass in hand and gave her his full attention.

She should have realized that. She simply couldn’t imagine him doing anything so festive. He no doubt left the task to his servants, then merely enjoyed their efforts.

So she rephrased her question. “But when do you usually have one decorated?”

“I don’t,” he replied yet again.

She was so surprised she couldn’t hide it. “Are you saying you don’t have a tree put up—ever?”

He raised a brow at her. “Why are you having trouble with that fact?”

“Because—I’ve never not had a Christmas tree myself. I thought everyone … But how did you celebrate Christmas as a child?”

“I didn’t.”

She thought of her own many Christmas experiences as a child, the fun in decorating a tree, the excitement as
presents gathered under it … That he had never experienced any of that, she simply couldn’t comprehend.

“You
are
English, aren’t you?”

He laughed. She saw nothing funny in the subject. Thomas was looking forward to decorating a tree with his own lovingly crafted ornaments. He
would
have a tree to do so if she had to go out and cut one down herself.

“Quite English,” he answered after his laughter wound down to a smile. “I merely never had anyone to share the holiday with.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were orphaned that young.”

“I wasn’t,” he said with a shrug. “My parents died after I had reached twenty.”

Larissa stared at him. She also gave up. His family must have simply been—strange.

If he had a wife, the lady would insist on a tree. With that thought occurring, she asked him, “Why have you not married yet?”

It was the wine. She never would have asked such a personal question if she hadn’t gulped down her first glass of wine and was already working on the second, nor asked it so bluntly. She wished the footman with the wine bottle would go away. No, actually, she wished he were standing closer rather than so far across the room, he wasn’t even within hearing distance.

The baron didn’t take offense, though; he even answered her. “I have yet to find a compelling reason to marry.”

She should have apologized for the personal question, instead pointed out, “But you have a title to pass on.”

“My father’s title. I despised him, so why would I want to preserve his title?”

“That’s rather harsh,” she replied. “Surely you didn’t really.”

“You’re quite right. The hate didn’t last more than a few years. Indifference prevailed thereafter.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? I’ve never known anyone to not love their parents.”

It was probably her surprise that made him chuckle. “You’ve led a sheltered life, Larissa. You’ve never known anyone to not have a Christmas tree either. Shall I tell you how easy it is for both to occur?”

She should have said no. Knowing more about him was not going to be good for her peace of mind, she was sure …

“Yes.”

He finished off his own wine before he began. “I grew up on the family estate in Lincolnshire, which I haven’t been back to since my parents died.”

“Why?”

“Because I have nothing but feelings of inadequacy there, and the memories that caused them.”

She changed her mind abruptly. “You don’t have to delve into those memories—”

“It’s quite all right,” he interrupted. “Believe me, those feelings are gone. In fact, I have no feelings remaining at all, where my parents are concerned. They were social butterflies. They did their duty in producing the required heir, myself, then proceeded to ignore me. I was turned over to servants to raise. Quite a normal occurrence, in the
ton.”

That was true, she supposed, though not as frequent as his “normal” implied. Nor did it explain why he had hated his parents, but she didn’t need to point that out, because he continued.

“My brother, Albert, came along a few years after me, unplanned, unwanted really, and turned over to the servants as well. Consistent of them, so I didn’t realize yet that my parents simply didn’t like children, at least had no time to share with them. They were never at home, after all, so neither of us was actually ignored, it was more like we were—forgotten. I even became close to Albert briefly, before they took him away.”

“Away?”

“With them. You see, by his fourth year, he became the ‘court jester.’ It’s how I’ve always thought of him. He went out of his way to amuse people—and succeeded. He was quite good at it. While I, on the other hand, had no such
qualities. I was too serious, too reserved. If I ever laughed as a child, I don’t remember it.

“On one of my parents’ rare visits, they discovered this. They had brought home guests. Albert managed to make most of these guests laugh. He was entertaining. My parents suddenly found him of value in their socializing, and worth spending time with, so of course, he must travel with them.”