“Indeed they are,” she said. “Thank you very much.”
David went to the mantle and removed the flowers, setting them on a table near the window. “We’ll be putting a conifer garland here for Christmas,” he explained as Ballard entered the chamber, laden with arms full of assorted bits of tree branches which he deposited on the floor by the fire.
“We’ve been gathering greenery and pinecones,” Stevie said, unable to suppress his excitement.
“My servants decorate my many chimneypieces,” Blatherwick said. “I’ve heard it said Ambersley Hall has more chimneys than any house in Sussex.” A cocky smile eased across his face. “As to our mantelpieces, we copied a picture of the Regent’s own mantelpiece at Carlton House. I daresay one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between mine at Ambersley and that of the Regent.”
He turned to address David. “You may recall that I almost met the Regent once. He wasn’t the Regent then. He was the Prince of Wales, and I would have gotten to meet him were it not for the fact his travel plans changed. My great aunt had very high connections. Her husband’s sister’s husband was brother to Viscount Harrington, you may recall.”
“How could I forget,” David said. The man incessantly referred to his high connections. David did not feel like being particularly civil to the man. He addressed Stevie. “Shall we start with the decorations?”
The lad’s quick smile revealed his dimples as he leapt for his basket of pinecones and sprigs.
It did not escape David’s notice that Blatherwick eyed the mistletoe. “Who hung the mistletoe?” Blatherwick asked.
David did not give the man the courtesy of turning to address him, but answered gruffly. “I did. Yesterday.”
Blatherwick sighed. “I don’t suppose, given her injury, Mrs. Milne has gotten the opportunity to stand beneath it yet?”
David quickly responded. He was not about to allow her to respond. “I can remedy that the next time I carry her.”
“I, sir, should be most happy to relieve you of that duty.”
Now David turned and faced Blatherwick, a stormy expression on his face. “I am not addressed as sir, and carrying Mrs. Milne is not a duty.” Then he presented his back to The Blowhard and picked up a length of conifer.
Incapable of perceiving that others might not be honored by his presence, Blatherwick turned his attention once again to Mrs. Milne. “I daresay a needy widow such as yourself would be flattered to be kissed beneath the mistletoe by a man of my stature and wealth.”
“You know me not if you think I am impressed by wealth, Mr. Blatherwick.”
How David wished he could have observed the expression of The Buffoon’s face.
“Well, of course, I do have many other admirable attributes.”
“You have been very kind to me.”
She was the one who was kind! Far too kind. David could not understand how she could suffer the man’s presence.
Especially since she was clearly not a fortune hunter.
“Mama! Look at how I decorated around the window!”
They all turned to see Stevie’s efforts. The window seat was strewn with sprigs of fresh-cut holly and pinecones.
“It looks lovely,” she said.
“It’s no longer sunny,” Stevie said, pressing his face to the window’s glass.
The skies had darkened to a deep graphite.
“It’s a good thing we came home when we did,” she said. “It wouldn’t have done for you to have gotten wet, for I do believe it’s going to rain.”
“It’s already starting to rain,” Stevie said. “It’s a good thing Mr. Blatherwick came in his closed carriage.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” David agreed. “I say, Blatherwick, you ought to return to Ambersley while the roads are still passable.”
Blatherwick’s brows lowered. “You may be right, my lord.” Then he got to his feet, moved to Mrs. Milne, and bowed. “I will come back tomorrow to inquire on the progress of your healing, my dear Mrs. Milne.”
After he was gone and after Stevie had left the room, she scolded David. “I thought you treated Mr. Blatherwick in a most insensitive manner.”
“The man’s a complete buffoon. I never could tolerate his company.”
Her lips curved ever so slightly. “He is the only man I ever heard your dear father speak disparagingly of, but I believe you both judge him too harshly.”
“I would be hard pressed to ever find something good to say about the man.”
“His boastfulness grows tedious, but consider how inferior he must feel in your presence, my lord.”
Good lord, David felt as if he’d grown two feet!
Chapter Six
After dinner that night and after she’d tucked in Stevie, David challenged Mrs. Milne to a game of cribbage. The drawing room, illuminated only by the light from the fire and a single candelabra near the door, was incredibly intimate. Ballard had set up the game table directly in front of the hearth. David kept thinking about capturing her for a kiss beneath the mistletoe.
He was growing mad with want of her.
As their game progressed, he realized she was a skillful player, so much so that she was not inclined to converse with him. Not at all what he had in mind.
Ever since she’d complimented him that afternoon by comparing his merits to the non-existent ones of Blatherwick, he’d felt as if he were walking on clouds. Did she really find him admirable? Could she be attracted to him?
A week ago he hadn’t known her. Three days ago he had despised her. And now his fondest hope was that she could want him in the same way he wanted her.
He hadn’t enough experience with these kinds of emotions to know exactly in what way he wanted this woman. Certainly, he wanted her in his bed. But somehow, even after so short an acquaintance, he did not think she was the kind of woman who would consent to such a prospect.
Did he want her for…good lord, his countess? His heartbeat drummed. Not in his entire eight-and-twenty years had he ever thought of marrying. He’d never before met a woman who appealed to him that strongly.
Until now.
God help him.
Clearly, he was not concentrating on his game. She handily beat him.
“Perhaps,” said he, “we could sit on the sofa, have a glass of port, and watch the fire. It’s so soothing on a chilly winter’s night.”
She favored him with a smile. He helped her to the sofa, and then he moved the table and chairs away from the hearth to allow them clear vision of it. When he came to sit on the sofa, he sat closer to her than she had chosen to sit by him the previous night. He poured her drink, handed it to her, and offered a toast. “Permit me to drink to a happy Christmas and healthy lungs for Stevie.”
Her glass clinked against him. “Thank you. You’re so good to him.”
They drank.
“Will you give your permission for me to take him—in my enclosed carriage against the cold—tomorrow to the village so he can purchase a Christmas gift for his mother?” he asked.
Her sweet mouth opened. “How thoughtful you are! I’m sure Stevie would love that.”
“Perhaps you can suggest something for me to get Mrs. Ballard.”