“Camellia, darling! Happy Christmas to you!” Her cousin greeted her with a girlish cry of delight. Blessed with copper curls and limpid blue eyes, Hortense could get away with acting five years younger than her twenty years. Her giggles were seen as charming, her sometimes bold remarks were dismissed as sweet naiveté.
Today, she looked like a magical snow princess. Her costumes reflected her prime interest, which is to say they were designed to flatter Hortense herself. She had the means to indulge this whim, so her dress of blue silk shot with silvery threads, accented with a silver lace fichu, was perfectly cut to emphasize her figure and admirably highlighted her coloring. Even those who loved her had to admit she was rather vain.
But one other thing must be said for Hortense Fitzgerald, which is that she never allowed her high opinion of herself to lower her opinion of anyone else. Indeed, she was a loyal friend and a cheerful presence. Camellia could not help but smile when she saw Hortense flying toward her.
“How I missed you!” She took Camellia’s hands in her own. “You are so good to come and keep me company in these dark days.”
The days didn’t look terribly dark in this part of the building, where candles blazed along the walls, springs of ivy twined with holly along the bannister, and richly colored carpets softened the stone floors. Camellia said, “I am very glad to come. I had to escape London.”
“You may stay here forever! You’re family, after all,” Hortense replied, with her usual blend of generosity and extravagance. Then she surveyed Camellia’s traveling costume with an astute eye. “That is such a fine color on you, dear. Purple doesn’t suit most women, but it makes your complexion look positively otherworldly! You always had such lovely skin. I remember envying your looks when I was crying over my splotches and dabbing on lemons and milk every night.”
“You seem to have survived the ordeal,” Camellia noted. “You are the queen of the castle now.”
Hortense preened. “I am rather. At least for Christmastime. Speaking of which, you did bring a proper ballgown, didn’t you? Of course you did. You know how we do things here. Hello, you must be Mrs Bloomfield, Lia’s old schoolmistress!” she said then. “Welcome to Wyemont Castle!”
“How do you do, Miss Fitzgerald,” said Mrs Bloomfield, smiling gently.
“Once you’ve seen your rooms and changed into afternoon dress, come down to the drawing room straightaway. I can’t wait till dinner to introduce you around to all the ladies and gentlemen!” She placed far too much emphasis on the last word, but then bubbled over with laughter. “Hurry, hurry! The sooner you come down, the sooner the fun can begin.”
Footmen were already gathering the luggage from the coach and a maid waited to usher Camellia and Mrs Bloomfield upstairs.
Camellia was shown to a bedroom far larger than her own at home. Furniture of various eras all crammed together, but the overall effect was one of comfort. Her things were brought up moments afterward, and she set herself to the task of freshening up.
She was glad she had updated her wardrobe a few months ago. Now she would not be mortified in front of Hortense’s set. Camellia’s afternoon gown was done in a simple cut, but the fabric was richer than her usual wear. She had chosen the chocolatey silk for its depth of color and soft hand. The dark color might get lost in the candlelit rooms of the castle, but Camellia didn’t think that was a disadvantage. She worried about being too much on display. When Mrs Bloomfield knocked on her door, she took a deep breath. Then they went down to meet the party.
* * * *
In the main drawing room of the vast sprawl of Wyemont Castle, Finn kept glancing out at the valley through leaded panes of wavy glass. Recent snow made the scene outwardly peaceful, but he was restless. The castle was as intimidating as he remembered. Or perhaps more so, since most of the guests were just this side of chilly to him. He knew if he hadn’t come with Elliot Townsend, the son of a marquess, he would never be let in the door.
Finn worried about Elliot’s continuing displeasure, but luckily Elliot had apparently put all memories of their spat aside, and greeted him like a long-lost brother. Elliot explained that the young lady at the center of their quarrel had revealed herself as an importuning soul beneath the notice of any man of quality. Before he knew what was happening, Finn accepted Elliot’s apology for the ancient argument with a bemused nod. As his father had said, Elliot never made many friends because he was too idiosyncratic in his demeanor and habits. Finn deduced that he was rather lonely.
But here at Wyemont Castle, it was impossible to be lonely. He and Elliot had arrived yesterday, and other than sleeping, Finn hadn’t got a moment to himself.
Now, at Miss Fitzgerald’s command, everyone began to gather in the drawing room well before the usual dinner hour, so as to “enjoy each others’ company,” which seemed code for gossip and matchmaking. Elliot was a far more popular figure for most people to acquaint themselves with, which suited Finn perfectly. He remained in the background, watching the crowd carefully, adjusting to his new role as guardian angel.
Elliot talked to several of the young ladies and managed to acquit himself fairly well in conversation. Sticking close by, Finn silently noted the name of each lady and resolved to find out about those who looked as if they planned to pursue Elliot, who Miss Fitzgerald had loudly noted was a bachelor. Thus far, no one struck him as a good match for his friend, not that Finn was used to assessing that sort of thing.
The sound of Miss Fitzgerald calling out another happy greeting made him look over to the door. Two unknown women had entered, and Finn watched them approach the main group where the hostess held court. The older lady was dressed in an old-fashioned but well-made gown. Everything about her, from the barely silvering hair under the cap, to the spectacles on a chain around her neck, indicated that she was a companion of some type.
His gaze shifted to the younger woman. She was not a spectacular beauty, but something about her kept drawing his eye. The folds of the dress flowed around her body as she moved, hinting at curves beneath. As she got closer, he noticed how the dark color of the dress made her skin glow in contrast, the flesh as smooth as cream. Large, dark eyes looked out sharply at the scene. Her equally dark hair was bound up simply, but there was enough there to make him consider the possibility of letting it down, just to see how it would frame her perfectly oval face. Her mouth was a little small for the rest of her features, but her lower lip was full enough to make him imagine how it would taste to kiss her…
He quickly decided that he really should stop wondering about that, at least while she was in the same room. He could already feel the arousal stirring lower down.
Remember why you’re here. He glanced at Elliot, to see if he’d noticed the new arrival, but he was still chatting with the most recently introduced contender, who was already in Finn’s black books for the numerous, subtly cruel comments she directed at Lord Elliot whenever he made a slight gaffe—which was, sadly, too often.
Miss Fitzgerald started introducing the new pair around the room, and Finn straightened up when they got closer. Odd that he’d care about making an impression this time. These guests were probably just like the others, ready to look down their noses at Finn.
But then he locked eyes with the young lady, and he knew in that instant that she wasn’t like anyone else in the whole world.
Chapter 5
Camellia tried to keep all the names and styles in her head as Hortense fluttered from group to group in the room. Most of the guests were either much wealthier than her and Mrs Bloomfield, or titled, or both. However, the gentlemen were all attentive, though Camellia knew that would change once she got too talkative—she’d discovered that most gentlemen did not want to hear about her plans to sail down the Ganges or climb Mount Etna or ride through the Sahara Desert on a camel. The ladies were polite too, if only because they couldn’t yet be sure if she would be a rival or an ally for their own plans.
Hortense finally reached the pair of men standing by the tall, leaded glass windows at the end of the room. Camellia felt a distinct jolt through her body when she saw them. It was as if she recognized them. But she’d never met either before in her life!
They didn’t look any different from the others. One was dark-haired, slender and smiling, with clear, guileless eyes. The other was blond, with broad shoulders, and a serious mien. His skin had the unmistakable tan of someone who had seen hotter climes than this one, and his eyes…they looked at her as though he could see right into her soul. Camellia quickly glanced away, turning instead to the other man, whose gaze was not so piercing.
Hortense was saying, “May I present to you the Honorable Mr Elliot Townsend. He is the only son of the Marquess of Grafton.”
