Page 24 of Waiting for Love

So they’d hired Gert. That was why they were behind.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “Mrs. Fowler, I’m glad you’re on the mend. I won’t take any more of your time.” Then, because it was the right thing to do, he said, “Lady Olivia, if you are returning home, I’d be honored to escort you.” Honored? He should have said “pleased.”

She gave him a cool look. “No, thank you. We are not yet finished with our game.”

She was angry with him. Of course she was. He was angry with himself. If he hadn’t been hiding from her, surely she would have said something to him about all this. It would have saved him hours of combing through old receipts, and spared them all this embarrassing encounter. And he could have arranged for a postponement of the rent.

He would have to find a way to apologize. Soon. But obviously, not now.

He stepped to the door, made her a short bow, and nodded to the Fowlers. “Good day to you.”

*

The staff’s Christmas party had taken place yesterday evening. The day before Christmas Eve. By tradition.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hardy and Peters had things well in hand. Benjamin’s only difficulty had been deciding what to refuse since their requests were so reasonable. Use of the ballroom. Food. They wanted two fiddlers for a couple of hours of country dancing. And drink. Arbitrarily, Benjamin had made them accept ale instead of rum punch. Sweets and whistles for the little ones. He said no to a large number of candles, which he suspected they requested just to give him something to reject. There were lamps enough in the ballroom at one tenth the cost.

By the noise, they had all enjoyed themselves. He did not attend. He didn’t want them to think he was spying.

The Taverstons had cleared out to dine with the rector and his wife. This, too, was something he’d learned they had always done. Benjamin had only spent one winter’s fortnight at Chaumbers in his younger days, one which did not include Christmas. His mother wished him home for that and he dutifully went. He’d resented it at the time, but now was glad he had set no precedent. The rector had not thought to invite him, so he did not have to decline.

Today, Christmas Eve, Jasper had informed him he was not to work. So he bundled Hannah up in her warmest dress, wrapped her in a cloak, and took her out riding, setting her in the saddle before him on Bluebell. They went out to the folly, a pretend remnant of a medieval abbey. Of course, Hannah was too little to appreciate its whimsy. But there were heaped stones to climb upon and a scattering of snow to push into piles. And she loved being on the pony.

It was too cold to stay out long. Moreover, the sky darkened early. So he reluctantly returned to the stables. He left the pony to Fergus’s care and carried Hannah back to the house, soundly sleeping in his arms. The minute he stepped through the door, a footman approached.

“Mr. Carroll, Lord Iversley requires you in his study.”

“Of course.”

Bother. He had told Miss Jamison she was free for the day. Well, it was Christmas Eve. Jasper wouldn’t fault him for carting Hannah along. He climbed the stairs, careful not to wake her. Then knocked lightly upon the study door.

“Come,” Jasper said.

When Benjamin entered the room, Jasper’s face softened.

“Sleeping?” he whispered.

Benjamin nodded.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Supper is at eight o’clock. Followed by games in the parlor. You are to bring Hannah and Miss Jamison.”

“I—”

“That is not a question. Are we understood?”

“Yes.” He felt oddly grateful to be given no option.

“Good.” Jasper smiled. “Then you may go.”

*

He was assigned a seat between Hannah and Alice. Miss Jamison had Hannah’s other side. A clever arrangement to corral her. However, the mite was so well rested after a long nap, that her behavior was exceptional. Or perhaps it merely seemed so to him, fond father that he was.

Olivia was a long diagonal away, between Georgiana and the dowager. They all still wore mourning, but Olivia had a red ribbon in her hair and a festive glint in her eyes. He liked to see her happy.

One could not be reserved at a Taverston supper table. Not when surrounded by so much laughter and love. For a while, they tried to guess who was Hazard’s Christmas host. The clues—country house, warm fire, shaggy hounds, biscuits, and tea—were no help. His presence was clearly missed. And more so Crispin’s. After a few “just like Crispin” reminiscences, the Taverstons referred to his most recent letter. He had groused that because of Jasper’s wedding, he’d missed Wellington’s crossing the border into France. He could not believe “the Peer” had not waited for him! But he would not hold the inconvenient timing of the wedding against Jasper since there was still work ahead for the army.

“How the devil is Boney still holding on?” Reg mused. “After such a sound thrashing in Russia? And Leipzig?”