One Wicked Winter Read online

  With an inward curse, she scolded herself for allowing her thoughts to return to him yet again, and tried to follow the conversation Crecy was having with the Bridgeford twins.

  “Yes, I love Mrs Radcliffe, naturally,” Crecy said, nodding, her grey eyes alight with interest. “But I’ve heard rumours of a simply wonderful story being published in the new year. It’s a retelling of Prometheus, about a scientist and his work to create new life. He takes bits of lots of different bodies and sews them all back together to bring a man back from the dead.”

  Her sister’s voice gave this information with the air of someone revealing a great treat as the twins simply paled and blinked at her in stunned silence. Even Belle swallowed with distaste at the idea.

  Crecy stared at them in surprise.

  “But doesn’t that sound the most fascinating story?” she demanded.

  “It sounds like heresy to me,” said a deceptively sweet voice from behind them. “I mean, a man playing God?” Isabella Scranford said, her pretty face screwed up in horror, one slender hand pressed her to heart as though she might faint dead away. “How can you think that interesting? It certainly doesn’t seem like a suitable topic for a young lady.”

  To Belle’s horror, Crecy’s admirers had insinuated themselves closer, and were now listening into this conversation with a mixture of interest and discomfort. Even worse, the marquess had taken several steps closer, obviously having caught the nature of the argument. Coming to gloat, no doubt.

  Belle bit her lip in agitation, sensing disaster at the scene unfolding before her. She noted, with mounting anxiety, that Crecy was about to bubble over with fury. Before she could cudgel her poor brain into finding a way to diffuse the situation, however, Crecy had boiled over.

  “I think it is stupid in the extreme to judge a work before one has even had the opportunity to expend the necessary time and thought required to make such a judgement,” she said, and Belle could only admire her sharp mind and sharper tongue, even though she was about to wreck everything. “The point of the story, as I am given to understand it, is to illustrate the fact that such attempts by mankind are abhorrent, and can only lead to disaster, so hardly heretical. It warns us that there is great responsibility with scientific discovery, that some things, once created or discovered, cannot be put back in the box, as Pandora found herself. And as for it not being fit for a lady!” she added in utter contempt, her lovely face flushed with anger as her voice rose with her temper. “It was written by a woman, and I at least am not such a poor creature as to succumb to a fit of the vapours at the very idea of it!”

  “Oh no,” Isabella tittered with a venomous glint in her eyes. “We can all see that you are not a woman of delicate sensibilities, Miss Lucretia,” the young woman said, her tone mocking as she took in the rather shocked faces of the gentlemen around them. “I’m sure there is nothing in the world that you could not face,” she said on a sigh, waving a delicate arm. “I, however, have no taste for such ... such morbid and indelicate subjects, and would leave such things to the gentlemen and their stronger constitutions, if such disturbing things appeal to them. I’m sure the very idea makes me feel quite ... quite faint.” In what Belle could only admire as a truly remarkable piece of work, Lady Scranford placed a fluttering hand over her heart and batted her eyelashes in the manner of someone about to swoon.

  “One of you men, take the woman outside to get some air,” came a harsh voice, cutting into Belle’s appalled brain like a heroic sword. “She looks like she’s going to vomit, and I’d rather it wasn’t on my Axminster.”

  At this rather prosaic observation by none other than the marquess himself, Lady Scranford snapped back to life with a horrified gasp. Belle, quite overcome, had to feign a fit of choking to disguise the hysterical bubble of mirth that broke free at the sight of the spiteful creature’s embarrassment. At that moment, she could happily have kissed the man, but as she looked up to meet his gaze, hoping to share in the enjoyment of the moment, he looked away.

  She found herself ridiculously disappointed and somehow cheated by this, as she felt quite certain that he’d found the situation as amusing and ludicrous as she had.

  “Miss Bridgeford, perhaps you and your sister would accompany Lady Scranford for propriety’s sake,” the marquess added with a rather brusque jerk of his head that had the twins scurrying away with alacrity.

  Belle noticed, with a sinking heart, that the risk of the lady vomiting notwithstanding, many of Crecy’s admirers had gone with the wretched woman, and the others who remained left to find more convivial conversation elsewhere.

  Crecy was nowhere to be seen.

  Belle felt a jolt of anxiety and scanned the room. She turned, only to find that the marquess hadn’t moved and that they were standing alone together. Her heart began a rapid dance in her chest, and Belle promised herself that she would not do or say anything rash or ... or improper.

  “Your sister needs to curb her tongue if she wishes to marry well,” he observed, his green eyes cool and apparently unamused.

  Belle felt her temper prickle a little at that, but rather less than she might have if anyone else but the marquess had said it. After all, she’d been saying the exact same thing for months now.

  “I know,” she said with a heavy sigh, surprised at herself for admitting such a thing. “The trouble is, I don’t think she wants to marry well, or at all,” she added, hearing a thread of anxiety behind the words that she hadn’t meant to be so obvious. She wondered a bare second later what on earth had possessed her to confide such a thing to him.

  The marquess snorted, clearly not believing her anyway. “Isn’t that what all young ladies want?”

  Belle craned her neck back to glare at him.

  “No.”

  Her reply was curt and quite clearly displayed her contempt for his words. For a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but then his expression hardened. The laughter that followed was cold and derisive.

  “I’d find that easier to believe if you hadn’t so obviously set your cap at Nibley.”

  Belle gasped, her cheeks flaming with combined fury and shame. How dare he? For a moment, she just stared at him in mute shock. After all, she could hardly just call him a liar, as he was spot on, no matter how ungentlemanly of him to observe it. But to be so damn callous!

  “I never said that I did not wish to marry well, my lord,” she replied, her voice dangerously calm. “My sister is another matter. Just because one of us must concern ourselves with where we will live and how we will clothe ourselves or put food on the table once my Aunt’s generosity has expired, does not mean that it is what we both necessarily desire.” She saw a spark of interest in his eyes at her words but she was so furious now that any hold she might have had on her promise not to do or say anything rash went up in the blaze of her temper. “Yes, I must marry to get poor Crecy away from my appalling Aunt’s influence.” She gave a snort at the surprise in his eyes. “What? You believed I was blissfully unaware of the fact that my nearest relation is a vulgar woman with her sights set on using my sister’s beauty to catch a wealthy sleeve to hang upon?”

  The marquess’ eyes widened a little further at this unguarded speech, but Belle was on a roll now, and nothing was going to stop her venting her spleen. “Come now, my lord. It is clear neither one of us can stand the other, so we’ll have the truth with no bark on it, shall we?” Belle folded her arms, finding her fists were clenched tight. Boxing his ears for real was becoming only too tempting and she needed to resist. “Yes, I intend to marry Lord Nibley, if I can bring him up to scratch,” she said, staring at him with defiance. “I have no fortune, it’s true, but I am a sensible woman, well able to organise his lordship’s household. I can ensure his life runs smoothly so that he can spend his time with his rocks unimpeded and eat a decent meal of an evening. I assure you, I have no romantic notions about the union,” she added, ignoring the utter misery the idea gave her. “But if he can get past my
appalling aunt, I will forgive his lack of conversation, and never give him a reason to blush for me.”

  A ringing silence hung in the air between them, and Belle’s anger began to fizzle away as she realised everything she’d just admitted to. She swallowed hard as nausea began to roil in her belly.

  “And is that enough?” he demanded.

  She looked up again, shocked that he hadn’t just turned on his heel and walked away in disgust, but was staring at her with a fierce expression that she could not decipher.

  “W-what?” she stammered, hearing the anger in his voice, but a little unsure suddenly as to why or what he was angry about.

  “Is it enough?” he repeated, sounding impatient now. He waved his hand, his jaw tight as though he didn’t want to say the words out loud. “That kind of life. Housekeeper to a man who barely notices your existence? Would it be enough?”

  She gaped at him, wondering how he could be so utterly stupid. “You think I have a choice?” she murmured, astonished that he couldn’t see it. “What choice do you think I have exactly, my lord? Tell me, what did you think when you first saw me, I wonder?” she said the words on a breath of laughter but they were brittle and bitter nonetheless. “No, let me guess,” she added, holding up a hand, though he hadn’t actually volunteered an answer. He was just staring at her, an unreadable expression in those moss green eyes. “A shabby fortune hunter on the catch for a rich husband with nothing to recommend her. No looks, no dowry, no advantageous family connections, oh, and a vulgar aunt to contend with. Does that about cover it?” she demanded, one eyebrow quirked in enquiry. “And you think I have the luxury of wondering if the match will please me, when I have no idea if I can even make it happen at all!” She really did laugh now, but there was a hysterical edge to the sound, and her eyes were prickling and hot. If she didn’t leave now, she would compound this truly horrible evening by doing something as appalling as cry in front of him. “If I can provide a roof over my head and take my sister out into society in the manner she deserves, I will be pleased enough, believe me, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  She turned before she could say another word, and found herself staring at Lord Nibley. She felt quite certain that he had only just walked up to them and had not heard their conversation, but he must at the very least have heard the furious tone of her voice and observed the dangerous glitter in her eyes. No doubt any thoughts he might have had about her being a comfortable wife had all shattered in one fell swoop. Oh, God. Could this evening possibly get any worse?

  With a muttered apology, she fled, and found to her horror that Crecy still hadn’t returned to the room. Appalled that she had spent her time rowing with the marquess when poor Crecy might be all alone with some ... some dreadful rake, she hurried off to find her sister.

  Chapter 10

  “Wherein sparks fly and Belle holds a fuse.”

  Violette watched Miss Holbrook hurry from the room after what had quite obviously been an absolutely furious row with her brother. Though her brother didn’t look furious, not exactly. In fact, he looked - intrigued, at least until Lord Nibley stepped up to speak with him and was promptly cut off as her brother stalked away. Good Lord, but he was rude.

  “I like Miss Holbrook,” observed Lady Russell from beside her, her voice mild though her sharp grey eyes had quite clearly been watching the scene unfold just as Violette had.

  “Yes,” Violette replied, watching as her brother contemplated the fire in the hearth with a rather fierce expression. “I like her, too, very much.”

  “Sensible gel,” Lady Russell continued, sipping at her ratafia with a nonchalant air. “Not the kind of woman to give up easily, either, I should think. Got a backbone. No shrinking violet, that one, no offence meant.”

  “None taken,” Violette murmured, remembering the way she had seen the rather diminutive young lady give the marquess as good as he gave, going on Eddie’s expression, at least. It looked very much like she had rung a resounding peal over him, in fact, and Violette found that she very much hoped she had. It would do him the world of good. Actually, she rather hoped Miss Holbrook would do it again soon. She turned around to say as much to Lady Russell’s, only to find she had a rather gleeful look in her eyes. Violette grinned at her.

  ***

  Belle searched the vast house with increasing panic as Crecy was nowhere to be found. She could be anywhere, of course, and Belle didn’t dare deviate from the few rooms she was familiar with for fear of finding herself in the kind of situation she hoped to save Crecy from. Though at least if she was caught with Lord Nibley, he’d be honour-bound to marry her. The thought was so shocking, and so ... tempting that she stopped in her tracks half way across the cavernous entrance hall. Before she had time to consider the idea a polite cough was heard, and she realised the butler was addressing her.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr Garrett,” she replied, smiling at him. “I’m afraid I was wool gathering.”

  “Might I enquire whether you were looking for your sister, Miss Holbrook?” he replied with a rather concerned, fatherly air, which she found both touching and reassuring.

  “Oh yes,” she exclaimed, and then hesitated, not wanting the man to believe her sister was keeping an assignation. “That is, I’m afraid she may have gotten lost.”

  The butler smiled at her, a warm twinkle in his eyes. “The young lady expressed a wish to see the library, so I took the liberty of settling her there with some tea and biscuits. I have been here ever since,” he added with a pointed tone that gave her to believe he had been guarding her sister’s honour and ensuring she wasn’t disturbed.

  After the events of this disturbing and upsetting evening, Belle found herself quite overwhelmed that a man in the marquess’ employ who neither knew nor had reason to care for them had put himself to such trouble.

  “Oh, how good you are, sir,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand before she could consider her actions. She blushed and let go, but Mr Garrett seemed to look on her with approval, so she hoped she had not given him a disgust of her. She knew over-familiarity with servants was frowned on not only by the ton, but by the servants themselves, too. By her actions, she had betrayed not only the depth of her anxiety, but her inexperience at dealing with staff.

  Yet Mr Garrett just gave her a rather confiding smile. “I had a younger sister, too, miss. A terrible worry to me, she was. Long married, now, of course, with three children, big strapping lads all of them,” he added with a laugh. “But I can well remember the anxiety of keeping such a sweet-natured and innocent girl from walking into trouble she hadn’t recognised.”

  Belle looked at him in surprise. She had believed the staff of a man like the marquess would be dreadfully stuffy and on their dignity, and this shared confidence seemed strange to her. A troubled look entered Garrett’s eyes.

  “Forgive me, Miss Holbrook,” he said, a little stiffly. “I did not mean to overstep the mark.”

  “Oh,” Belle replied, realising he had misinterpreted her surprise as disdain. “No, not at all. Indeed, Mr Garrett, the truth is I have been in dread of embarrassing myself before the staff of such a distinguished family, let alone the family themselves,” she added with a flush as she remembered her parting words to the marquess. “It is just such a surprise to find you so ... so ...” She faltered, not knowing what word to use without causing offence, but Garrett simply chuckled.

  “I served the last marquess before I served this one, and two more different men would be hard to find. I’ve known his lordship since the day he was born, and unlike his father, he doesn’t hold with formality of that nature. Never been high in the instep, that one, despite the old marquess’ teachings.”

  Belle found this piece of information rather more fascinating than she thought prudent, but couldn’t help but dig a little deeper.

  “If you don’t mind me observing it, he ... he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the presence of his guests terribly.”

  The man’s face fell and h
e nodded. “The war changed him, miss. There was a time when he would have relished such a gathering, but not any longer. He doesn’t like company these days.”

  Once more, and despite her overwhelming fury with him, Belle couldn’t help but feel compassion for a man who had clearly been a hero, from what everyone said of him. She could not know or even guess at the terrible things he must have seen and experienced. Such things must leave scars, even if they were not visible to the eye.

  Garrett guided her to the library door, and Belle thanked him again, before going in to find Crecy.

  She was curled up in a chair by the fire, her shoes discarded and feet tucked under her skirts, her nose buried in a book and a half-eaten biscuit in her free hand. She looked absurdly young and heartbreakingly beautiful. Belle was torn between shaking her for giving her such a fright, and just admiring the picture before her. In the end, she compromised between the two, settling herself in the chair opposite and waiting until Crecy looked up and noticed her existence.

  “Oh, hello, Belle,” she said, smiling at her before taking a bite of the previously forgotten biscuit. “This is awfully good,” she added, gesturing to the book and brushing crumbs from both her lips and the pages as she spoke around the biscuit.

  Belle sighed over her slovenly manners.

  “Are you quite determined to turn my hair grey before this wretched house party is over?” she demanded, folding her arms and hoping she looked stern and forbidding. “How could you be so foolish as to go off on your own, Crecy? What if someone had followed you and found you here alone? What then?”