The Cheer in Charming an Earl(10)

He could have groaned with frustration. “Either the dalliances stop now, or she stays in her room. There will be no clandestine activities or degeneration of any sort that she might witness.”

He received identical looks of perfect innocence.

“Chelford!” Mariah chastised him when he pulled a face. “Of course we will end our party for her. Go, now, and give her the good news. Christmas at Chelford is not to be missed, not by anyone.”

“Not even a bunch of lightskirts and dissolutes,” the dark-haired beauty murmured.

Grantham felt a pang of remorse for his hasty appellations. Just a pang, mind, as he was entirely in the right. “A game of respectability now, and when the snow melts, you’ll leave?” he verified skeptically.

Steepleton rolled his eyes. “We said nothing of the sort, but never mind it. By that time, you’ll be begging us to stay. Your Miss Mystery is going to remind you why we don’t dawdle with innocents.”

Grantham shook his head. Would she? He wasn’t so sure.





Chapter Four





ELINOR ROSE on her tiptoes to peer through the frozen windowpane set high on the wall. Given its height from the floor, the room’s Spartan accommodations, and her own lack of consequence, she had to assume she’d been placed on the servants’ floor. Only a minor setback.

A knock at her door caused her to spin around so suddenly, her temple began to pound. “Yes?” she called across the chamber.

“’Tis Lord Chelford. May I enter?”

A thrill shot through her. “Y-yes, my lord.” She wrapped the blanket she’d pulled from the bed around her shoulders more thoroughly. Still clad in her carriage dress, it wasn’t as though she were en dishabille. It only felt that way.

The door creaked open and Grantham stepped into the room. His friend, de Winter, was nowhere in sight.

“You’re up and about,” Grantham said, seeming disappointed.

“Yes.” She brushed her hand against her temple, though she didn’t mean to. If he realized her head ached, he’d no doubt order her back into bed.

“That’s good,” he said without enthusiasm. Then he drew his shoulders back, as though resolved to proceed with something unpleasant. “You’ll be glad to know your horses weren’t hurt. I’m sorry, Miss Conley, but I can’t say the same for your carriage. What’s left of it will make good tinder and not much else.” He tempered his bad tidings with a half-smile. He couldn’t know how very relieved she was to know the horses hadn’t been harmed by her impulsive actions. While she did feel guilty about the carriage, it was nowhere near as important as the cattle.

“I do have better news about dinner,” he continued. “The piglet I’d planned for Christmas Eve has been spit across an open flame. My clever cook has dished up cold salads to serve alongside it. And my guests have called me a beast for not inviting you to dine with us. Will you accept my humble apology and join us tonight?”

She grinned broadly before she remembered to behave demurely. Try as she might, however, she couldn’t quell her eagerness entirely. She was to dine with him! And his guests, but surely this was progress.

As she stared at him with adulation and tried to form the proper phrases needed to accept his request without sounding giddy, she realized what he’d said. He didn’t want her to meet his guests. No doubt he thought her far below him on the social ladder. “Am I an embarrassment to you?” she asked worriedly.

“Oh, no!” He answered so quickly, she couldn’t believe him. “I want nothing more than the pleasure of your company.”

Laid that on a bit thick, too. Nevertheless, she was invited. She’d make do. “Did my trunk survive the accident? I should like to don something more suitable.”

He raked his eyes over her as though seeing her costume for the first time. Wrapped in a tattered blanket and wearing a dusty carriage dress, she couldn’t look half as desirable as she’d like. Yet when his silver eyes darkened and he seemed to grudgingly pull his gaze to her face, she stood a fraction straighter.

“I’ll have it sent in.” He stopped mid-turn toward the door. “Miss Conley, are you by chance the vicar’s daughter?”

She laughed at that. He smiled back, and her heart could have burst with happiness. “No, my lord. My father was a farrier.”

“Was.” Grantham’s humor faded. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her mood dampened, too. “Thank you. It was a long time ago, but sometimes I still hear the particular rhythm of his hammer on the anvil. It’s always my brother, though.”