House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas (6 page)

Christmas. A time for family, and for new beginnings. As the miles stretched between them and Postcombe, and they spent the hours alternating between easy silence and conversation, Evan resolved that this Christmas would be a new beginning for them both. It was finally time for him and Amelia to come together, to spend the rest of their lives together as partners, friends, lovers…and as husband and wife.

As they drew within a few miles of Cheltham House, Amelia snuggled even closer to him.

“I wonder what Mama and Papa will think?”

“About what?” he murmured, glancing down at her. Her cheeks were flushed beneath the brim of her fur-lined cap.

“About you bringing me home.”

He shrugged. “I am sure they will understand when we tell them what happened to your carriage.”

“Ye-es…” But she didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that…well, it was my mother who took me home after that night.”

He frowned. “Which night?”

“The night you said those things,” she said softly. “She took me home in the carriage, and when I couldn’t stop crying, she pulled the story of what happened out of me.” Amelia looked up at him bleakly. “I recounted every word of what I heard said between you and the other boys.”

Evan stiffened. “She must despise me.” As Amelia had.

“She does. She’s never forgiven you.”

“And your father?”

She sighed. “He knows, too. My mother told him.”

Evan blew out a breath between clenched teeth. He could do nothing to win the earl and countess over except be truthful about his feelings for Amelia. It probably wouldn’t be an easy thing to earn their absolution—they’d always doted on Amelia and took her happiness very seriously.

He knew how much Amelia valued her parents’ opinions. If they didn’t give their approval, it would definitely be a problem.

Amelia wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll tell them I was wrong about you. That I misheard those words so long ago.”

He put the reins in one gloved hand and slipped his free arm around her. “Don’t say that,” he told her. “It isn’t the truth.”

“But I know you now, Evan. And I know my mother and father. Those words weren’t who you are, and yet they will always judge you based on them.”

“Perhaps they should,” he said softly.

She squeezed him tighter. “No,” she breathed.

Even after the long night they’d spent together, even though he’d wanted to give her pleasure until it wiped away all memory of that night, he never truly could. That night would always be a moment of ugliness between them. And it was his fault. There was no way he could travel to the past and say something else to that bastard George MacBride.

He gazed out over the snow. The sun was making a valiant effort to burn away the clouds, and it was now a silhouetted, hazy globe that hung low in the sky. The snow was deep and soft in areas, causing the horses to move far more slowly than they normally would—and he needed to be careful, too, so as not to lead them into a patch of softer snow or an area that might cause them to stumble and injure themselves. Dusk would settle across the countryside soon. It’d probably be full dark by the time they arrived at Cheltham House.

“Evan?” Amelia asked him.

“Yes?”

“I know you’re not like that. I believe you now. And I…I forgive you.”

He bent down to kiss the top of her cap. “Thank you. Your forgiveness is the best Christmas gift I could ever receive.”

He turned to face forward again. Up the road ahead, a horse and carriage topped a short rise and headed toward them. It was the first traffic they’d encountered all day.

Amelia squinted at the oncoming vehicle. “That looks like my father.”

A few seconds later, the crest on the carriage’s side glinted in a ray of waning sunlight, and Amelia stiffened and pulled away from Evan. His body missed her warmth immediately.

“It’s
definitely
my father’s carriage,” she said. “What is he doing out on such a day? Lord, I hope he hasn’t come looking for me.”

The answer was revealed two minutes later when the vehicle was within a few yards of them. The coachman stopped the horses with a shouted, “Whoa!” and a man stomped out of the carriage and headed toward them.

“Amelia!” he called, making long strides in their direction. The Earl of Cheltham cut an imposing figure—he was tall and broad-shouldered, with thinning blond hair and the piercing blue eyes of his eldest daughter. He wore a thick black greatcoat, a contrast to the whiteness of the snow he strode over. As he reached the sleigh, he scowled at Evan for the briefest of moments before reaching for Amelia. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Of course, Papa. You haven’t been worried, have you?”

“Of
course
we’ve been worried! We’ve been beside ourselves!” The earl opened the sleigh door and lifted his daughter out bodily, settling her on her feet at arm’s length and looking her up and down as if to make sure she was in one piece. Then he pulled her to him in a great hug.

“Really, Papa!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his chest. “I’m quite all right.” She drew back from him and explained, “The axle broke on my carriage in the height of the storm yesterday. John and I were so lucky to have encountered Mr. Cameron on the road just a few hours later.”

“That’s not exactly how I heard it,” the earl muttered. His gaze moved to Evan again. He gave Evan a curt nod. “Cameron.”

“My lord,” Evan said, equally cool.

“I’ll take her from here,” the earl said.

Evan froze as the cold air seemed to seep through his layers of clothes and into his bones at Lord Cheltham’s words.

The thought of going home, turning away from her, putting distance between them…No. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to stay as close to her as possible…for as long as possible.

And yet, did he have a choice? The earl didn’t seem to be eager to welcome Evan into his home with open arms. And Evan’s mother and aunt would be waiting for him.

“Oh, Papa,” Amelia murmured. “It’s nearly dark. I don’t want to force Mr. Cameron to drive at night when the roads are like this. Can he not stay at Cheltham House for the night and continue on home tomorrow?”

The earl ground his teeth—Evan could
hear
it. Then his cold gaze slid toward Evan. “I’ve no doubt the man can get home safely.”

Frowning, Amelia took another step back from her father. Without taking her eyes from his face, she said, “Papa? What is it?”

Lord Cheltham let out a harsh, wheezing breath. “Mr. Berwicke arrived earlier. He saw you at the inn in Postcombe last night, entering a room with that man.” He gave a rough gesture toward Evan but didn’t deign to look at him again. “Evidently Mr. Cameron”—he said Evan’s name with a sneer—“was bragging about it in the tavern. So now all of Postcombe believes you were seduced. And the word will spread rapidly, don’t doubt it.”

Berwicke, damn him.
Evan should have expected this.

He had had enough. He slid out of the sleigh and moved to stand at Amelia’s side. She was looking at him in wide-eyed shock, and he knew why. She believed that when Evan had gone to fetch their dinner, he had willfully spread the rumor about who had been waiting for him in his room. She believed he’d betrayed her again.

One viperous gossip could make her question him. It made sense, after he’d destroyed her trust so completely years ago. But he would nip it in the bud this time.

“That man is a busybody attempting to stir trouble,” Evan stated, and if looks could freeze, he would have turned the earl into a solid block of ice. He turned to Amelia. “It isn’t true, Amelia. He talked to me while I was waiting for the dinner tray, and he asked if that was you. I told him it wasn’t.”

“You…lied?” she whispered.

Beside them, her father sucked in a breath, but Evan ignored it. He could manage her father’s rage, but he didn’t want hers. Amelia was the one who mattered. Earning her trust and keeping it was more important to him than anything.

“Yes, I lied,” he told her. “Of course I did. I’ve been gone for years but I remember Berwicke. He’s been the county’s biggest gossipmonger since we were children. I didn’t want him spreading rumors about you. About…us.”

Still, he’d apparently underestimated the man. He’d run to Cheltham House and had already informed the earl and countess of his “findings.” Evan felt sick.

“But…then how…?” She gestured toward her father.

Evan shook his head. “Clearly, he got a better look at you than he let on. I’m sorry.” He’d tried to protect her, and he’d failed again, damn it.

She gazed at him for a long moment in silence. The world around them was quiet and still, the late-afternoon sky growing darker by the minute as her intelligent blue eyes assessed his face, judging his honesty.

And then a corner of her lips quirked and she nodded, as curt a nod as her father had given him just a few moments ago.

“Papa,” she began quietly as she turned back to her father, “I am a grown woman. I make my own choices in this life, and if others choose to gossip about them, that is none of my concern. But you need to know that Mr. Cameron has been nothing but a gentleman since the moment he found John and me walking in the snow. I’ll not have you nor anyone else disparaging him, when all he did stemmed from goodness and kindness. He
saved
us.”

Love for her surged in Evan’s chest. She was no simpering maiden cowering before the bulk of masculine fury that was her father. Instead, she stood up to the man. She was trying to protect Evan.

He wanted her like nothing he’d ever wanted in his life.

The earl’s cold gaze turned to him again. “Did you compromise my daughter?”

“Papa!” Amelia exclaimed in horror. “I am a widow! Not some innocent debutante.”

The earl made a noise that rather sounded like a feral growl. “You are my daughter. Widow or not, I’ll not have any man compromising you.”

Amelia made a little clucking noise and cupped her father’s cheek in her hand. “I love you, Papa. And I’ve missed you so.”

The older man opened his mouth, but before he could speak she continued in a soft voice. “Will you take me home, now? It’s cold, it’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve. And I am in desperate need of my mother and my sisters.”

He made a gruff noise of assent.

“And,” she continued gently, “Mr. Cameron will follow our carriage, and we will make him welcome, because he has been kind and he saved John and me from a ferocious storm yesterday.”

The earl made another noise, and he didn’t look very happy. But then he muttered, “Very well. But only because his family is already there.”

Amelia and Evan both blinked at him.

“Mrs. Cameron and her sister are at Cheltham House?” Amelia said.

“They are,” the earl said stiffly. “Your mother didn’t want them to be alone for the holiday, so she invited them to stay with us for a few days. Indeed, our house is quite full of people this year.”

Amelia smiled, and gratitude suffused Evan. He remembered Lady Cheltham to be fiercely protective of her daughters, but also kind and selfless—much like her eldest daughter. Her thoughtful invitation extended to his mother and aunt didn’t surprise him.

Amelia turned that smile to him. “Perfect,” she murmured.

She was right—it was perfect. Well, it would be, if not for the small fact that the earl clearly despised him, and probably the countess did, too.

Amelia began to walk toward his carriage, and after flashing a dark look at Evan, Lord Cheltham turned and grudgingly followed her.

Bemused, Evan drove the sleigh behind them the remaining mile to Cheltham House, unable to stop his thoughts from dwelling relentlessly upon what Amelia and Lord Cheltham could possibly be discussing inside the earl’s carriage.

When he turned onto the drive of Cheltham House, Evan could see the grand house, a tall and imposing rectangle of red brick. Golden light spilled from nearly every window, and festive boughs of holly decorated the awning over the grand front entrance and twisted around the pillars framing the door.

As soon as Evan stopped the sleigh behind the earl’s carriage, people began pouring from the front door. Amelia’s mother moved at the front of the crowd, hurrying toward the carriage. When the door opened and Amelia stepped out, the countess took her daughter into her arms. Evan’s mother broke off from the group and approached him, his aunt on her heels, as he stepped out of the sleigh and handed the reins to a groom.

His mother stopped before him just as he turned to face her. She looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Evan,” she murmured. “I’ve missed you, son.”

He embraced his mother, glad that despite the glassiness in her eyes, she looked well. Glad that, in spite of everything, they could be together this Christmas. When he let her go and made to step back from her, she clutched him tightly. “I’m not sure you’re welcome here,” she murmured into his ear. “There has been gossip…”

“I know, Mama,” he said, patting her shoulder. “It’ll be all right.” It would be. He’d make it so.

“Oh, Evan, I’m not sure—”

“Hush,” he told her softly. At the carriage, people were talking in excited voices. Looking over his mother’s shoulder, he saw Amelia’s mother narrowing her eyes at him, and it was clear exactly what kind of man she thought he was.

He sighed, and his own mother released him, gazing at him with deep concern in her brown eyes. He gave her a game smile, then realized that she was shivering. She’d rushed outside without a coat, as had the others, most of whom were already heading back into the warm glow of the house.

“Let’s go inside,” he told her.

“Yes,” she said, and as Aunt Mary approached to greet him, she added under her breath, “but only because it’s too late to go anywhere else.”

He greeted his aunt, his mother’s never-married older sister, a shy, reserved woman. Without meeting his eyes, she murmured, “Welcome back, Evan,” and pecked him on the cheek before falling into step beside him.

Holding his mother’s and aunt’s arms firmly in his own, he led the two older ladies into the lion’s den.

T
hanks to Evan, Amelia’s wish had come true—she would have Christmas Eve dinner with her family tonight, and she would spend Christmas with them tomorrow. Her mother had been holding dinner in hopes of hearing news of Amelia’s whereabouts from her father. When the earl returned with Amelia in the carriage, her mother had rushed outside and had gathered Amelia to her, exclaiming, “Oh, dearest. We have been so worried. First afraid that you were lost in that wretched storm, and then to hear that you’d been abducted by that awful Mr. Cameron…”

“Abducted? What? Wait—” Amelia had pulled away from her mother, who’d gone stiff as her gaze snagged on the sleigh and its occupant. Amelia took her mother’s arm firmly, but the older woman’s narrowed eyes didn’t slide away from Evan.

“Mama! You’ve been completely misinformed,” she said in a low voice, aware of the mass of people that was quickly surrounding them. “Papa is prepared to welcome Mr. Cameron into the house, and so must you.”

The distance traveled in the carriage with her father had been uncomfortable, to say the least. The earl had wanted to know the exact nature of her relationship with Evan, and Amelia had been at a loss as to how to describe it. How is a lady expected to inform her father that, as of last night, she has acquired her first lover?

Awkward, all round.

But she did it. She’d told her father, the man whose mere visage at one time in her life made her quake in her boots, that she had strong feelings for Mr. Cameron, and she refused to allow him to judge their relationship.

He’d reminded her of the grief that Cameron had caused her when she was a girl. She said, “Yes, Papa, we’ve discussed it. He didn’t mean what he said in quite the way I took it.”

“I don’t see how you can take those particular words he said about you in any different way.”

She sighed. “I know. But the fact is, he was, in his youthful and not-so-well-thought-out way, attempting to protect me.”

Her father had sputtered, unable to speak for a moment. Then he’d said, his tone ice cold, “Last I heard, it is not advisable to protect young ladies by slandering them.”

“No, it isn’t. However, he’s older now. And…well, he understands how his words affected me, I think. And he is sorry for it.”

She had hidden a shudder, remembering Evan’s tender caresses, his soothing kisses. Evan had seemed to deliberate over every touch as if to ensure each one would be healing to her, and it had worked. Each time his skin had come in contact with hers, a bit of the hurt that had resided so long inside her had melted away.

Her father had interrupted those thoughts by asking if they intended to marry.

The heat that had flushed over Amelia’s face at that moment made her want to remove her coat, it was so uncomfortably hot. For a long moment, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer. Finally, she managed, “It is far too soon for such talk, Papa.”

Her father had scowled at that. In fact, he’d spent the entire trip to Cheltham House scowling. She hoped those furrows in his brow hadn’t frozen there.

Now, her father touched her mother’s shoulder and leaned down to her ear. Amelia heard him say in a low, gruff voice that they’d discuss it later, but for now, she must behave as if they’d heard nothing scandalous about their daughter and Cameron.

Amelia watched her mother straighten and pull herself together. She tore her gaze away from Evan and proclaimed they must all go into the drawing room and warm themselves with a drink before dinner was served.

The party hurried back into the pleasant comfort of the house, Amelia’s sisters chatting excitedly to her, others welcoming her home. Among the crowd, she saw the entirety of the enormous Berwicke clan, George MacBride and his family, and another man who looked familiar. All the while she was overly aware of Evan behind her. He’d reunited with his mother and aunt, and they were walking at the back of the crowd, separate from the rest.

Did they all know? She glanced at Mr. Berwicke, who was eagerly whispering to his wife, who was in turn darting glances in Evan’s direction. Oh yes, they certainly did know. Berwicke wouldn’t have kept his juicy bit of gossip from anyone.

Suddenly, Amelia felt the judgmental oppression of everyone’s gazes. Good Lord, what were they all thinking? Were they imagining all the wicked things she and Evan had done together in that little room last night?

Amelia straightened her spine, smiled, and nodded at her sisters. They entered Cheltham House’s drawing room, filled with its gilded furniture, dark carpets, and enormous crystal chandelier. Tonight the vast space was festooned with mistletoe and holly, and a massive Yule log burned cheerfully in the hearth.

Amelia curled her fingers around the glass of claret her mother pressed into her hands and took a big swallow, appreciating the trail of warmth the liquid left behind.

Her mother turned away to greet Evan, and Amelia tried not to stare at them. She knew her mother would rather poke her own eyes out than create a scene in her own drawing room amongst so many guests, so Amelia was fairly certain she’d be her usual genial self and give Evan the welcome he deserved—even if the countess didn’t think he deserved it.

“My lady!”

Amelia turned toward the man, and her stomach sank when she saw George MacBride grinning at her. To his right was his wife, a sweet creature who doted on their two children, and who appeared to be increasing with number three. To his left was that other man—the one she knew but couldn’t place.

Amelia had never liked George. They’d never been friends. And after she’d heard that bit of his discussion with Evan that night in the garden, she’d liked him even less. However, he was still a neighbor, and she was well bred enough to know how to be supremely civil even to those she disliked.

She forced her lips into a welcoming smile as they approached. “Mr. and Mrs. MacBride. I am so glad you were able to join us for Christmas this year.”

George gestured to the man beside him. “You remember Mr. Henry, don’t you, my lady? He’s recently returned from India.”

Something in Amelia’s chest tightened. Fletcher Henry—the third youth who’d been in the garden that night. He was the one who’d laughed and said she was a fat, lazy cow and that he wouldn’t deign to touch her with a cattle prod.

She hadn’t seen Fletcher since that night. And now he was here. All three of the youths who’d maligned her were here.

She kept her smile firmly fixed in place. “Mr. Henry. Of course I remember you. How wonderful to see you again.”

Fletcher was a thin, dark-haired man with a straight bearing and sharp, angular features. He inclined his head. “My lady. You were lovely when last I saw you, but your loveliness has increased tenfold with maturity.”

Sickness churned in Amelia’s gut. What a liar. How dare he pretend he’d ever thought she was lovely? The gall of the man!

She managed to look down before he could see the flash of anger in her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, even as she ground her teeth.

“Fletcher is planning to return to England permanently,” George said.

“Indeed. I have been expanding my fortunes in London and India for the past several years, but now I feel it is time to settle in a proper English country house and allow others to toil on in India,” Fletcher said.

They talked about India and travel for a time, Amelia smiling and nodding, and inserting the appropriate questions at the appropriate times. Just when she was prepared to make her excuses and walk away, a footman announced dinner, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

But then, Fletcher held out his arm. “May I escort you into the dining room, my lady?”

“Ah, I am sorry, Fletch,” a smooth voice came from behind her, “but the earl has requested that
I
escort his daughter to dinner.”

Fletcher’s thin brows shot toward his forehead as his gaze snapped to Evan, and Amelia released a long, relieved breath as Evan took her hand and threaded her arm through his.

She couldn’t imagine that her father had actually asked Evan to escort her, but she was utterly thankful to have him beside her right now.

Fletcher’s eyes narrowed on their interlocked arms, then he gave Evan a tight smile before bowing in Amelia’s direction. “I shall see you in the dining room, then, my lady.”

Dinner was interminable. It wasn’t so much his own discomfort that bothered Evan, it was Amelia’s. And he couldn’t blame her for being uncomfortable. Everyone kept sliding glances at her as if she were some kind of fascinating specimen. And as much as Evan attempted to stare each of them down, they were relentless, their interest obviously fueled by Berwicke’s gossip about her liaison with Evan at the inn.

The plum pudding arrived in a fiery circle of flaming brandy, and everyone dug in. Amelia’s sister Emmaline was the first to discover something—a coin, which she clutched to her breast. “I am to be rich!” she gasped in delight. Everyone chuckled, because everyone knew that Emmaline had been born rich and would always be so.

When Amelia discovered the gold ring deep within her serving of plum pudding, her sisters squealed with pleasure, and everyone laughed at her wide blue eyes and her expression of speechless surprise as she cupped the ring in her hand.

“Looks like you’ve another marriage in your future, my lady,” Evan’s mother said to Amelia. “Congratulations.”

Amelia turned a lovely shade of pink and cast her eyes downward as she laid the ring on the tablecloth beside her. Evan fought the urge to whisk her away from all these people and take her somewhere safe. Preferably somewhere that contained a bed.

“Do you not wish to marry again, my lady?” Fletcher asked her.

“Someday, maybe,” Amelia said in a voice so low Evan almost couldn’t hear her. Then she cast a quick glance at him, her cheeks still flaming.

On the other side of Amelia, Fletcher chuckled and said, loudly enough for Evan to hear, “What good luck for me,” which made Evan seethe. Manners, and the desire not to ruin Amelia’s parents’ dinner, were the only things that prevented him from throttling the man at that moment.

After dinner, things only grew worse. George drank too much—a problem he’d had even when they were youths. When he began raising his tone belligerently over the indistinct murmurs of the drawing room as several of Berwicke’s daughters sang a Christmas carol, Fletcher took him by the arm and suggested they walk for a while. Clearly, Fletcher hoped the brisk air would sober his friend. As they passed Evan, George slurred, “Join us outside, old chap. Fletch has promised to share some fancy tobacco he acquired in India.”

“In a while,” Evan murmured, not quite ready to end his current conversation with the countess. “You go on ahead.”

They left, and he turned back to the older woman.

“So you were saying?” she asked him, her hazel eyes shrewd and assessing. She’d asked him about how he’d encountered Amelia on the road.

“I told Amelia I would be happy to take her home,” he said. “However, she refused my help, at first.”

“Of course she did.”

“I didn’t understand why, at the time. But she told me later.”

The countess pursed her lips. “And what did you have to say for yourself, Mr. Cameron?”

He looked the woman square in the eyes. “What I did was unforgiveable, my lady. But your daughter has given me the great honor of her forgiveness, and I will always be grateful for that.”

The countess shook her head. “One of Amelia’s greatest shortcomings is her soft-heartedness. You will not find me so easy to forgive, especially of such a crime against a beloved daughter.”

“I understand,” he told her. “I hope that someday I will prove myself worthy of your forgiveness.”

She just gazed at him.

“For,” he continued, keeping his tone even, though his heart galloped in his chest. “I believe I am in love with your daughter.”

At this, her eyes went wide. Then, her lips twisted. “That’s not possible. You’ve known her one day.”

“On the contrary. I’ve known her all my life.”

“You are both adults now. Amelia has changed irrevocably from those innocent days of her girlhood. I am sure you’ve changed, too.”

He leaned forward. “Yes, my lady, we’ve both changed. But we’re both still intrinsically the same people we were when we were children. Did my mother ever tell you of my youthful desire to marry Amelia?”

She looked startled. “No.”

“I was informed in no uncertain terms that she was too far above me, and such an event would never come to fruition. And yet, here I stand, years later, finding that my feelings on the matter of marrying your daughter have never wavered. However, I am a man now, whose hopes aren’t so easily dashed by those who consider themselves older and wiser.”

“Is that so?”

“It is,” he said softly. “And if Amelia will have me, I will be your son by marriage someday soon, my lady. If you cannot forgive a neighbor for his transgression, I hope you’ll find it somewhere within you to forgive a son.”

She gave him a considering look. “I’d absolve a son, if he earned his forgiveness.”

“I intend to earn yours,” Evan said. He glanced around the vast room, seeking out Amelia and frowning when he didn’t see her.

“I believe she went upstairs to wish her sisters goodnight,” Lady Cheltham said, reading his mind.

He looked back at the older woman, giving her a sheepish smile. “Of course.”

Mrs. MacBride approached them to thank Lady Cheltham for her hospitality. The woman was flustered and flushed—abandoned and embarrassed by her drunken husband. Evan couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman.

Evan excused himself and ventured outside in pursuit of George and Fletcher, supposing he should get that encounter over with as quickly as possible. He would ensure George was put to bed before he embarrassed himself further. And Fletcher—well, Evan needed to find out what the man’s intentions were when it came to Amelia. He didn’t like the way Fletcher looked at her.

He didn’t like it at all.