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December 20, 1818
E
xcitement buzzed at the base of Stephen’s spine as he made the rounds of Ivy Castle in the hunt of Lynette. Not finding her in the usual places, he stopped a maid in the corridor. Her arms were full of bed linens no doubt headed to launder.
“Do you know the whereabouts of Mrs. Hodgins?”
The young, petite girl looked at him with wide eyes and an expression that said she’d be sacked if seen loitering with one of the duke’s sons. “I would have no idea, my lord. I haven’t seen her today.”
“Where is Lady Ruddick?” A shudder racked his shoulders thinking about that lady’s acerbic tongue.
“The morning room, my lord.” She edged away.
“Thank you.” Best to beard the lion in its den first, to put her on notice. It took all of thirty seconds to reach the morning room. Winter sunlight streamed in through the windows where Lady Ruddick sat with a fashion periodical in her lap while lightly dozing. He cleared his throat rather loudly as he approached.
The woman startled awake, clutching at her shawl with one hand and the magazine with the other. “Ah, Lord Tilbury. What brings you here this afternoon? I rather thought you’d be with the decorating party.”
Ah yes, today Mother had planned for everyone to band together and deck the halls of Ivy Castle with the greenery gathered from yesterday’s outings. He cared not for any of that, with the exception of mistletoe placement.
“I’m afraid I haven’t the skill for such.” Stephen clasped his hands behind his back as her regarded the older woman. Faint lines framed her mouth, as if she spent a fair amount of time with her lips puckered in distaste and disdain, which might be true. Lady Ruddick didn’t much care for anyone or anything that didn’t directly benefit her. “I’m glad to see that you and Lynette accepted my mother’s invitation to linger here for the house party.”
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t be proper manners to outright refuse a duchess, now would it?”
He couldn’t decide if she was bitter about it or just stating a plain fact. “I suppose not, but at least here you needn’t pay for a fire or food, and you don’t lack for company.”
“Hmph.” She waved a hand as it didn’t matter. “What do you know about it?”
“Only that the taxes haven’t been paid on Birch House for a few years, that your coffers are bare, and that you expect your daughter to rescue you from ruin.” He might be a cad for mentioning her troubles, but he wanted her to know that he was aware of them. “She has her own life, Lady Ruddick.”
The baroness glared. Her beady dark eyes flashed much like a cornered rat. “Lynette knows where her responsibilities lie.”
“That may be so, but she is also here on my mother’s invitation, and she should enjoy herself during the festivities instead of working herself into a frenzy of nerves about your affairs.” He glanced about the immediate area. From the number of discarded periodicals and the detritus on a tea tray, it appeared the woman meant to use the morning room as her encampment for the duration. “Surely you can let her partake of the holiday entertainments.”
“She can do what she wants, of course.” Lady Ruddick shrugged. “But if I have my way, she’ll stay in Bedford instead of returning to Surrey after Twelfth Night. She shouldn’t leave her mother to the wolves.”
“Even if the situation wasn’t of her making?” Stephen caught the woman’s gaze, and when she didn’t answer, he continued. “I intend to court your daughter again, and I’m telling you this now—not for your blessing, for you never managed that the first time around—but to let you know that if it takes, she’ll spend a good portion of her time in London with me.”
Her eyes widened with shock. “You wouldn’t dare toy with her emotions again.”
“Oh, I’m not planning to toy with anyone. What I feel for your daughter is quite real, and quite frankly, I’ve never lost the torch for her.”
“You and she didn’t have enough in common the last time to make a go of it. Leave her be to find a man not of your ilk.” Again, she waved a hand, clearly dismissing him.
“As I said, I didn’t come for your blessing.” A stab of annoyance went through his chest. Why couldn’t this disagreeable woman see that he still cared for Lynette and would do anything to make her life better? “By the by, where is your daughter?”
She took up the magazine and wrenched it open, never meeting his gaze. “In the kitchens. She wished to do some baking and send John out to sell the pastries. Coin is coin, Lord Tilbury, and you might not need it, but I do. Leave her be. She knows where her loyalties lie.”
“While you sit idle here on my parents’ hospitality?” He tamped on the hot anger that sought to encompass him. “That’s hardly fair.”
She snorted. “I’m an old woman. What can I do?”
“What indeed.” Except make it difficult for her own daughter to grasp at the second chance of happiness and love. Lady Ruddick would prove a problem, no doubt. “I’ll wish you good day then.” With that, Stephen took his leave, and gladly, for being in the same proximity as Lady Ruddick felt as if he’d had two years of his life sucked from him.
By the time he’d wandered into Ivy Castle’s kitchens, he was in desperate need of humor and something to raise his flagging spirits. As he passed through the door into the large area, he smiled at the sprig of mistletoe he’d tacked to the frame. Oh yes, he’d certainly make use of that today in a bid to win Lynette over.
A certain amount of wariness enveloped his heart though, even as his pulse increased when he laid eyes on her behind one of the worktables with Cook on one side and her son on the other. He must move cautiously into the relationship, for she could very well smash his regard beneath her heel once more.
“Good afternoon, Lord Tilbury,” John called out. He sported a smudge of flour on his cheek, and when he grinned, one of his front teeth were missing. In every sense, he was the epitome of a country lad.
“Good afternoon, Master Hodgins.” As he approached the table, he flashed a grin, one he knew easily won over the castle’s female staff. “Hello, Cook. How’s my favorite woman in Bedford this fine day?”
The short, round woman tittered, as did the two kitchen maids. A fierce blush burned in her fleshy cheeks. “Get on with you, my lord. You’ll make my husband jealous.”
“Ah, more’s the pity, but lucky man he is.” Stephen pressed a hand to his heart, for it was a game he often played with the cook. “I’ll bury my disappointment in pastries.” Then he slid his notice to Lynette, who watched the by-play with interest in her dark eyes. A pinafore apron covered her dress, but her sleeves were shoved up and her hands were covered with flour as she rolled out an expanse of pillowy, ivory dough.
And she was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodgins. Your mother told me I might find you here.”
“I’m surprised she let on to my location. She’s been rather selfish of my time since I arrived in Bedford.” Shock jumped into her face. Had she not meant to say that aloud, even if it wasn’t all that derogatory?
“I don’t know about that.” He glanced about the tables. There were racks of cooling pastries and a few platters of various treats ready to go. One or two baskets had already been packed with sweets, and all of them made his mouth water. “Is all of this largesse for the Christmastide festivities?”
John raced in to fill the gap. “Mama wants me to go around and sell these, but I’d rather eat them,” he admitted with a smile. “She won’t let me sample them.”
“I can see that about her.” He winked at the boy. Now was the time to win her son over to his side and help with the romance. Daring much, he snagged two hand pies from a platter and gave one to the boy. “I think it’s apple.” At least that was the hope from the amber juices that oozed up from the slits in the pastry crust. “You can see the flecks of cinnamon.”
The cook laughed but she made no comment.
“Oh, these are my favorites!” John took an over large bite, which rendered him mute for a few minutes while he vigorously chewed.
Stephen’s stomach growled. He sampled the still-warm pastry with a bite of his own. Immediately the sweet taste of apple and sugar tangled with his tongue, complimented with the warmth of the spices Lynette had used. Once he swallowed, he beamed. “As good as any French bakery, I’d wager.”
“Thank you.” A blush stained her pale cheeks. “You’re both eating my profits. I’ve not a clue how much the taxes are on Birch House, but any little bit of coin helps.” The shadows in her eyes spoke of her worry.
Immediately, he sobered and finished his hand pie in short order. “Then, how much for this collection of small cakes?” He gestured to one of the baskets as Cook handed him a cup of tea, which he accepted with a grateful nod and another grin.
“Four pence for the lot.”
Honestly, he thought she was wildly undervaluing her product, but he wouldn’t say so in front of the staff. “Consider them sold.” After he downed the tea in two gulps, he rested the cup on the worktable and delved a hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. When he’d brought forth a slim leather pouch, he removed the requisite coins and then plunked the money on the worktable. “Come, John. We’re going to do great justice to these cakes.” He caught the basket in his hand with a wink to the cook.
Lynette shook her head. “Lord Tilbury, I must protest.”
“Now, now, I’ve asked you to call me Stephen, remember.” His eyes met hers. Exasperation lined her face. “We have a prior history and no need for formality.”
John grinned. He dusted his hands together, dislodging a shower of pastry crumbs. “Might I call you Stephen as well?”
“No.” Lynette wiped her hands on her apron. “He is Lord Tilbury to you, no matter how he might tease and act like a boy.” She let out a huff as she looked at Stephen. “I dislike him to gorge on sweets.”
“Then you’d best come with us, for it could be dangerous.” He winked at the boy. “Who knows what sort of trouble we might fall into with a basket of cakes?”
“Loads of it, I’m afraid,” John said. He darted his gaze between the basket and her. “Please, Mama? He paid for them.”
“Oh, you two will be the death of me.” Clearly annoyed, she removed the apron with efficient movements and hung it on a peg in the wall behind her. “Cook, will you take over for a bit until I can return?”
“Of course, dearie. Go enjoy yourself for once.” The older woman beamed. “It’s good for you and the boy, and Lord Tilbury is in a mood today.”
“That he is,” Lynette muttered.
They withdrew as far as the doorway before Stephen spoke again. “Ivy Castle is even now being decorated with all sorts of greenery.” He looked at the boy and slipped him one of the cakes. “I rather like seeing the halls adorned with fir boughs and ribbons. It’s quite festive.”
“Me too.” John nodded. “Grandmother says branches and berries are messy business. She doesn’t like having them inside.”
That woman’s foul reach was long. “That’s rather a lot of rubbish. Ivy Castle even has mistletoe. It looks very much like it did when I was your age.” He tossed a look to Lynette, who blushed. “Every house should have mistletoe this time of the year. Don’t you think?”
Before she could respond, John’s face brightened. “Oh, I drew some of that yesterday! Let me show you.” Without another word, he dashed out of the room, leaving them standing beneath the sprig of mistletoe she hadn’t yet noticed.
Despite the fact that Cook and the maids kept spearing curious glances their way, Stephen tried to draw Lynette out and see how she felt about him. “You used to enjoy the Christmastide holidays years ago. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget, when memories accost me at every turn here?” She kept her voice low, but her eyes lit. “It was something both you and my husband enjoyed. Which makes it difficult at times to remain cheerful.”
“Then I’ll need to make certain you only remember the happy times.” He dropped his voice. “And the kisses stolen beneath mistletoe.”
The blush in her cheeks deepened. “Stop that.”
It was a good indication of her feelings, but John pelted in, destroying any chance of furthering an inquiry.
“Here it is.” He held up a cut out of the mistletoe plant. It had been painted with watercolors, and the paper curled at the edges. “I tried to make it realistic.”
“What a wonderful drawing.” Stephen made a show of glancing between it and the real spring that rested above their heads as if he’d just seen it. “By Jove! Look at that. Someone tacked up a sprig right here.”
A low groan issued from Lynette. “You don’t play fair, Stephen,” she whispered.
He chuckled. No, he didn’t, but he kept his attention on John. “You know what it means when a lady finds herself under such a plant?”
“Oh, yes. Lady Lettice told me yesterday when we were searching out greenery.” He looked at his mother with a cheeky grin. “She must kiss a gentleman.”
“Indeed. How smart you are.” He once more glanced upward and then back at John as his heartbeat raced. It was daring and devious, but he wanted that first mistletoe kiss. Everything he needed to know would be contained therein. “Shall I kiss your mother in the spirit of Christmastide?”
“Stephen, I—”
John cut off her protest by hopping up and down. “Yes, do! I’ve never seen anyone kiss before, and Mama’s not had a kiss in ever so long.”
Her cheeks fairly flamed now. “I told you that in confidence, John,” she said, much to the giggles of the kitchen maids.
“Well, we can’t have that.” Stephen gave the basket of cakes to John. “Please hold this, Master Hodgins while I share Christmastide cheer with your mother.” He dropped a hand to her waist, being certain to maneuver her beneath the mistletoe sprig.
“This is ridiculous.” But the twinkle in her eyes said otherwise, and it lit tiny fires in his blood.
“So it is, yet Christmastide demands it. These are the rules.” With very little effort, he slipped his hand to the small of her back and tugged her a tiny bit closer. When she laid a palm to his chest, he stifled a groan, for it felt like heaven to have her touch him again. Then he lowered his head and gently claimed her lips that tasted like the plum jam she’d used to make some of her pastries from. Aware her son and the kitchen staff looked on, he pulled away, but that little kiss certainly didn’t satisfy him, even if it brought home the fact that it felt right in doing such with her. Plus, the blush on her cheeks and the pleasure in her eyes betrayed the fact that she’d enjoyed it as well.
Everything is going according to plan.
“Well, then.” Stephen couldn’t help his grin. He dropped his hand from Lynette’s back and then tousled John’s hair. “Perhaps you should keep your drawing handy, Master Hodgins. We may need to use in case there’s no real plant around.”
“I’ll keep it safe, Lord Tilbury.”
“Good lad.”
“But I’m not going to ever kiss a girl, even if there is mistletoe. It didn’t look very interesting to me.”
“Fair enough, but you should revisit that thought once you’re grown. Some ladies are so nice and pretty, they need kissing.” He winked at Lynette.
“Do stop, Stephen, lest you corrupt him.” But she smiled, and the whole ruse had been worth that.
“Corrupt him? Never. Teach him how to be a gentleman? Always.” He took the basket from the boy. “Now, let’s see about doing justice to your mother’s cakes, eh, Master Hodgins?”
“I would like that. They’re some of my favorites.”
“Mine as well.”
“Lord Tilbury?”
“Yes?”
“Might you call me John? I think it would be nice to hear.”
Stephen’s heart squeezed. He hadn’t counted on needing to court the boy as well. “If that’s what you’d like.”
“I would. Thank you.”
“Very well, John.” He held the boy’s gaze and nearly lost himself to the longing he saw deep in those eyes. This was tricky business indeed, for if he failed to win Lynette back, the child would be hurt. Everything was suddenly quite serious. “Ah, if we’re still hungry after those cakes, I might buy some pies. I’m in the mood for plum.”
The blush renewed on Lynette’s cheeks. “Those are for paying customers, and I believe I said John shouldn’t eat too many sweets.”
Stephen ignored the protest. “You wish to sell them. Well, I’m an appreciative customer.” With a wink, he gestured to the corridor with his head. “John and I are retiring to the portrait gallery. In my youth, my brothers and I used to use the space as a battle ground. We’d bring pillows and blankets and build forts. I think, perhaps, your son might enjoy that.”
“It sounds smashing, Lord Tilbury. Shall I bring my tin soldiers?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ll meet you there.” When the boy pelted from the kitchens, he couldn’t help his grin. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“How can I say no now?” She shook her head, but her expression grew serious. “Please don’t hurt him, Stephen. He’s but a boy and won’t understand if things go awry between you and me.”
“I don’t intend for them to do so.” When he would have cupped her cheek, he hesitated due to the witnesses, so instead, he shrugged. “Give me a second chance, Lynette. On everything.” After a slight hesitation, she nodded, and he expelled a breath. Yes, his plan to woo her was coming along nicely. “Thank you. Enjoy your afternoon, and Cook, my love?” He glanced at the round woman. “If you wouldn’t mind seeing that tea is brought up to the portrait gallery in thirty minutes? I think John and I would rather like refreshment before the battle commences.”
He couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.