Caroline frowned as she listened to her father, wondering at his intonation. It seemed he said, I’m very glad you’re here, as if he wanted Snowdon particularly. And the hesitation before my lord was odd too. Perhaps he didn’t like having to entertain a lord over the Christmas holiday? But her father loved hosting this annual house party!
“Papa,” she said quickly. “You’ve forgotten to put on your jacket. You’re lucky we haven’t received any female guests yet. You’ll scandalize them!”
He laughed out loud at that joke, a full-bellied laugh that Caroline knew well. A happy laugh. “Goodness, we wouldn’t want to court any scandal this season, would we?” He spoke generally, but his eyes lit upon Snowdon.
“No,” Snowdon agreed quietly. “It is a season for truth and joy. And the giving of gifts, for those who deserve them.”
That was not generally how Caroline described the season, though she supposed it was correct. She got the feeling that there was something she was missing.
“Time enough for all that,” Mr Garland said, shrugging into his jacket at last. “Looks like nasty weather on the way again! I do hope the other guests arrive in time for dinner tonight. Judging by the smells as I passed the kitchen, it should be very grand.”
“Who’s chattering?” a crotchety voice demanded. Mr Garland stepped aside to reveal a tiny, wizened form, snow-topped and robed in black. “It’s like a pack of magpies have descended upon the house.”
“Wait till everyone gets here, Aunt Juniper,” Caroline said, watching as her aunt (her father’s eldest sister) walked across the room toward her chair, which sat nearest the fire. Juniper paused to regard Lord Snowdon with a bit of surprise.
“How do you do, ma’am,” he said, and made as if to remove the cat so he could greet her properly.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned him. “As if we would risk Mittens’s howling. Who are you, sir? I’ve never seen you before.”
“This is Lord Snowdon, Auntie. He’s a guest of Papa’s,” Caroline explained, hoping her aunt didn’t seem horribly rude (luckily, Snowdon seemed amused rather than affronted).
Juniper gave Snowdon a longer, harder stare. Mittens woke suddenly, with a startled merp. He gazed at Aunt Juniper with amber eyes, and after a moment Juniper said, to no one in particular, “Well, then. I suppose it could be worse.” And continued on to her chair, evidently done with her interview.
“She’s a bit eccentric,” Caroline whispered to Snowdon.
“It’s endemic to the species,” he replied with a sidelong glance that revealed a twinkle in his eyes.
Just then, there was another knock on the front door. Her father looked delighted, wondering aloud who it could be. Moments later, a slender young man stepped into the room. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the starched white collar of his shirt. His clothes were that of a clerk, though the fabric was clearly of very good quality.
“Mr Stockan,” the footman announced in a perfunctory manner, for Caroline’s father was already walking toward the man to embrace him.
“Timothy Stockan, you made the journey after all! Excellent, excellent.” He quickly introduced the slender, studious young man as his current assistant at the London laboratory.
Stockan bowed to both Caroline and her mother, and from his first few words, his American accent came out clearly. “I thank you for the opportunity to spend this holiday at your home, sir. Very kind.”
“Nonsense! You had nowhere else to spend the season, did you? Not with your family back in the States.”
Caroline welcomed him. “So you are working with my father while in London?” she asked, remembering the name Stockan being mentioned a few times.
“Yes, for a while at least,” he said. “My own father wishes me to learn all I can of how things are done in Britain.”
Just then Estelle walked in. “Aunt Juniper, I did find your blue wool shawl—” She stopped on seeing strangers, saying, “Oh! I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nonsense, Estelle!” Caroline told her. “It’s just that some guests of Papa’s have arrived. This is Lord Snowdon…”
“Forgive me for not getting up,” Snowdon said. “I’ve got a cat.”
“So you have!” Estelle laughed prettily and forgave him. “We’re all under Mittens’s rule here.”
Caroline went on, “And here’s Papa’s colleague. Mr Stockan, please meet Miss Clement.”
Estelle curtseyed while he bowed, but as the two straightened up, they appeared to have nothing to say to each other. Caroline wondered at it, until she saw Estelle’s wide green eyes and rapt expression. She jumped at the chance to say, “Miss Clement is my dearest friend. She lives here with me at Hollydell…well, she will until she marries some lucky gentleman, though she could choose to live by herself. Of course I shall miss her greatly no matter what. You must miss your family very much, Mr Stockan. How did your wife take the news that you would be gone for so long?”
“I have no wife,” he said faintly, still looking at Estelle, who seemed rooted to the floor.
“Ah, how sad,” Caroline said, pleased to hear it. “Well, we hope you enjoy England for the holidays. There’s so much—”
“Halloo!” a baritone voice called from the front walk, causing her to break off. Even as the footman hurried into the foyer, the door swung open and a large figure strolled in, accompanied by a little whirl of snowflakes.
“Mr Foster, sir,” the footman said, grabbing the door handle as if he’d actually done the honors. “The family is in the parlor.”
Caroline, however, got up and walked into the foyer to greet the new arrival. “Mr Foster! I didn’t know you were planning to come today.”
“Thought it a good idea, considering the rumors of a storm coming. Might not get through tomorrow! Don’t you look pretty, my dear girl.” He grinned as he shucked off his greatcoat and hat and let a maid take them away. “Who’s all here?”
Caroline led him into the parlor and introduced him to the new guests, telling him who they were and their connection to the family (though she realized that her father had yet to explain Snowdon’s reason for being there).
“Francis Foster,” he said in a hearty tone as he met Lord Snowdon, though a slightly annoyed expression crossed his face when he noticed Mittens. Caroline wasn’t surprised—Mittens was usually excited to see Francis.
To Mr Stockan, he gave an interested glance. “So you’re in the same sort of puttering as Mr Garland, are you? All the potions and pouring…always sounds like alchemy to me!”
“It’s extremely modern,” Caroline said defensively. “Alchemists attempted to turn base metals into gold. We are attempting to find formulas that will better all mankind!”
“You’re so easy to rile,” Francis said with a chuckle. “You should do whatever you like in life, and if it ends up helping people, so much the better. Haven’t I always said that, Caro?”
“So you have,” she allowed, even as she noticed Lord Snowdon’s eyebrow rise slightly on hearing Francis so casually use her pet name in company.
Well, so what? They’d known each other for years. He was like a brother to her. Indeed, Francis was a firm supporter of her interests, even if he called it “puttering.”
For no discernible reason, the conversation withered at that point. Caroline was feeling awkward about Francis’s bluff manner in contrast to Snowdon’s elegant calm. And then of course Estelle was doing no good at all to propel any talk, being tongue-tied.
“I’d better go see about dinner,” her mother announced, suddenly hurrying from the room. So much for aid from that quarter!
The silence stretched onward, even more awkward than before.
“The thing about squirrels,” Aunt Juniper announced into the void, “is that you can’t trust them.”
“Is that so, Aunt?” Caroline asked weakly.
“I’ve always said they’re up to no good.”
She had never said that, as far as Caroline knew, but she seized on the opportunity to change the subject. “Oh, of course. Very wise, Aunt Juniper. You know, I think it’s time for your afternoon nap. Shall I take you to your room?”
She escorted her aunt out of the parlor, breathing a sigh of relief as she escaped the gazes of the men who remained there.
“Aunt Juniper, I think you sometimes want to cause a fuss. What’s wrong with squirrels?” she asked in a low voice.
“They’re thieves,” her aunt said firmly. “Everyone thinks them cute and charming and harmless, but they’ll nip anything they like at the first chance!”
“I think they’re stocking up for winter.”
“Oh, they’re thieves year-round, my girl. Never forget that.”
“All right, Auntie. After I tuck you in, I’ll just tell Cook to lock up all the chestnuts and walnuts.”
“Chestnuts! Not worried about the chestnuts, girl.” Juniper groaned as she lowered herself into the bed. “But do tell Cook to save me one of those little berry tarts she makes. I want one for later.”
“I’ll do that, Aunt. Enjoy your nap, and we’ll see you at dinner.”
Caroline returned to the parlor, relieved to hear that the men were chatting now. Just before she reentered the room, she heard Francis say, “Where is your family seat, my lord? I confess I’m unfamiliar with your title.”
As she paused in the hallway, it crossed Caroline’s mind that Lord Snowdon hadn’t actually said his full title. She didn’t even know his rank.
“Cheshire,” Snowdon replied, “but the fact is that I spend most of my time in London. Or abroad. Though I’ve yet to see America. Mr Stockan, where would you recommend a traveler to go in the States?”
“I was born in Philadelphia, so I’m partial to it, of course,” Mr Stockan said. “But I think most people would tell you to start in New York City, and from there wherever your heart desires, whether that be seashore, mountains, woods, or prairie.”
“Rough wilderness, you mean,” Francis said with a shudder.
“We’ve got plenty of that,” Stockan replied. “But for those who prefer the cultured life, a number of cities may suit you.”
“None of them are London,” said Francis, rather pugnaciously.
Stockan just chuckled, not taking the bait. “Not a single one is London, sir. You are correct there.”
“But you studied chemistry there in the States?” Snowdon said in a cool tone. “What university?”
“I attended the University of Pennsylvania, sir. But I came here to learn more under Mr Garland’s tutelage. I’m very lucky to have got the position, not being a native of these shores.”
Caroline thought her presence would be good for Estelle, who had remained silent through all this. She reentered the room and sat down next to her friend.
The conversation turned more general after that, and then the arrival of yet more guests provided more diversion. The latest included Caroline’s grandparents on her father’s side, and then the vicar and his wife, who were regular guests at the manor. Soon, the room was full of talk and tea. The poor maids were quite done out as they hurried to and fro with trays of snacks and pots of hot water.
Eventually, her mother stood and announced that dinner would be served on the hour, which was the signal for everyone to retreat to their rooms and change into evening wear. Snowdon and Stockan were shown to their rooms. Francis said he’d idle in the parlor until the bell rang. As he spoke, he gazed out the window at the rapidly fading light. Mittens (now bereft of Snowdon’s lap) took a look at Francis, but did not try to join the man. Instead the cat sniffed and sashayed out the door.
Then the two young ladies left the parlor and walked up the stairs to the upper floor to change for dinner. Estelle whispered, “Caroline, how could you? Asking Mr Stockan how his wife felt. You all but put me on the auction block!”
“His nonexistent wife! I clarified the situation to a young, eligible bachelor who is new to this part of the world. Why shouldn’t he know that you’re available?”
“But I’m not. My dowry is laughable. Clearly, you are set on courtship for everyone, not least yourself. You hung on Lord Snowdon’s every word.”
Caroline protested, “I was being polite.”
“If any of the other gentlemen calling here got half so much of your attention, they would have leapt with joy.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Caroline said. “After the holiday, Snowdon will leave, and neither of us will see him again.”
That idea made her sad, which was odd, considering she’d only met the man a few hours ago.