Regency Mistletoe & Marriages: A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride. Joanna MaitlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
than to Lord Bridgemere.
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ she said through gritted teeth, wondering why his eyes had turned so cold. ‘I should find the experience most beneficial.’
It was ridiculous to let the Earl’s treatment of her hurt so much. It was not as if she had seriously believed there could ever be anything between them. And as for those brief flashes of feeling as though she was totally in tune with him…well, they had clearly existed only in her own mind. Lord Bridgemere might have paid her a little attention, but she could see now that it had only been to assess how he could make the best use of her.
‘Thank you,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I must leave you now. Cadwallader has arranged a full afternoon for me, and would be most put out if I ruined his timetable. Can you find your own way up to the nursery?’
‘If not, I can always ask for directions,’ she replied acidly.
She got to her feet and began tidying her work away as soon as he’d left the room. Though she disliked being on the receiving end of Lord Bridgemere’s demonstration of his organisational skills, she would appreciate the experience of working with some children before she took up her new post. Even though she had decided, when all the money had disappeared, that she would find consolation in moulding young minds in the way Aunt Bella had moulded hers, she was a little nervous about how exactly she would go about the task. Lord Bridgemere could not have hit upon a better way of helping her become accustomed to her new station in life.
Drat him.
Helen enjoyed the rest of the afternoon much more than she had expected. To begin with, the Reverend Mullen welcomed her with an enthusiasm that was a balm to her wounded pride.
‘Ah, good, good—His Lordship has managed to persuade you to lend your talents to our little endeavours,’ he beamed, when she entered the huge attic space which had been converted into a rehearsal area. ‘I have cast the children as best as I can,’ he said, ‘and rehearsed them once or twice, but they are in dire need of costumes. His Lordship told me you consider yourself a most competent needlewoman, and would be able to help on that front.’
Helen’s lips compressed as she recalled flinging those very words at Lord Bridgemere on the day she had rejected his offer of a new gown to replace the one Esau had spoiled.
But it was hard to stay cross for very long in the atmosphere of jollity over which the Reverend Mullen presided. He was scarcely any older than Nicholas Swaledale, she reflected, yet two youths could not have been more different. The Reverend was earnest, diligent and…well, worthy was the word that kept on springing to mind in his regard.
And the children, unlike their parents, all seemed to regard their visit to Alvanley Hall as the highlight of their year.
‘Christmas last year was horrid,’ said the tubby lad who was to play the part of Joseph, while she was measuring him for his costume. ‘Mama and Papa wanted us to keep out of the way while they had their parties. And they forgot all about us. We never got a big feast, like we had the year before at Alvanley. Will we be having a children’s feast, this year, Miss Forrest?’ he asked excitedly. ‘We had cake and jelly and ices last time, I remember.’
‘I do not know. This is the very first time I have been here.’
Immediately ‘Joseph’s’ expression turned pitying. ‘Never mind, you’re here now. Perhaps you will be able to come to our feast with us, and then you’ll see!’
‘I think I should like that.’ She laughed. Far more than the deadly formal banquet she guessed would be provided for the adults.
It would be wonderful to stay up here with the children and servants…
She sucked in a sharp breath. Why had she not seen it before? He had not invited her. She was here as the companion of Aunt Bella, nothing more. He had placed her in a room he’d told her was allotted to upper servants, and when he’d seen her making use of his library, as though she was a guest with the right to make free with the public rooms, he had sent her up here, where the Reverend Mullen could find fitting work for her to do!
She flushed angrily. He thought of her as a servant! It was not his wish to help her gain some experience with children that had prompted him to send her up here. No, he was just putting her in her place! Keeping her out of sight of his relatives, several of whom clearly objected to her presence.
‘Did you prick your finger?’ asked the pretty little girl who was to play the part of Mary.
When Helen had first come up here the child had run her eyes over her rather plain gown and looked as though she had immediately relegated her to the status of servant. But in spite of that she stopped sifting through the pile of materials that had been provided to make up the costumes the moment Helen gasped.
‘I am always pricking my finger when I sew my sampler. You should use a thimble,’ she said, nodding sagely.
‘Thank you,’ said Helen amending her impression of her as a haughty little madam. ‘I shall remember that.’
‘We get nice presents here, too,’ she said absently, resuming her search for something she deemed fit to appear on stage in. ‘All of us. Nobody is forgotten,’ she said, with such a wistful air that Helen suspected she must have suffered such a fate herself. ‘And we get to stay up really late to put on our play. And all the grown-ups watch us and clap their hands. Even Mama and Papa.’
Helen could barely refrain from putting her arms round the child and giving her a hug. Her words spoke volumes about the way she was usually treated in her own home.
‘I would rather they didn’t,’ said the slender boy cast in the role of the angel Gabriel, who was sitting on a nearby stool, glumly studying his copy of the play. He was clearly nervous about performing in front of an audience. ‘I would rather just stay up here with a book.’ He coughed in a most theatrical manner. ‘I don’t think I will be able to say my lines. I think I’m catching cold.’
‘You had better not, Swaledale,’ observed ‘Joseph’. ‘Or you will miss the skating.’
Helen looked sharply at ‘Gabriel’. If his name was Swaledale then he must be the younger brother of Lord Bridgemere’s heir. Now that she knew he was related, she thought she could see a resemblance. He did have a rather sulky mouth.
‘Miss Forrest,’ said ‘Joseph’, turning to her, ‘His Lordship has made a skating pond, especially for us children. We are all going to go down tomorrow if the rain holds off. Will you be coming with us?’
‘I am not sure,’ she replied, tight-lipped. The Earl had specified that he wanted responsible adults to watch over his precious young relations, implying that she did not qualify.
‘Mary’ pouted. ‘I expect it is only for boys. The girls will have to stay indoors and…learn lines, or something equally tedious!’
‘No, no, Junia, dear,’ said Reverend Mullen, who had been passing with a sheaf of scripts in his hands. ‘All the children are to gather in the stableyard, first thing in the morning, where a cart is to be ready to carry them to the pond. Those who do not wish to skate do not have to. They may watch. There will be a warm shelter where hot chocolate and cakes will be served.’
‘Joseph’s’ eyes lit up.
‘And did I not tell you, Miss Forrest? His Lordship particularly wants you to accompany the nursery party, since you are such an enthusiastic skater.’
‘Are you?’ said Junia, dropping a length of purple velvet and looking up at her wide-eyed. ‘Would you teach me to skate?’
‘Of course I will,’ replied Helen, suddenly understanding why her parents sometimes overlooked her. Junia, she recalled hearing, was the name of another of Lady Thrapston’s daughters. Her mother must have been furious she had produced yet another girl, when there, in the form of ‘Gabriel’, was the proof that her sister, Lady Craddock, had produced not only an heir for Lord Bridgemere, but also a potential spare.