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“I’m sure they’ll be fine once they return to their warm stalls,” Bella said encouragingly. She tried to hear what Nicholas said to the coachman. The footman and the groom had climbed down and gathered at the rear, about to put their backs to it. “Heave!” came the cry. The carriage rocked forward and then settled back again.
An ornate, pale green coach pulled up beside them. The door opened, and a tall man jumped onto the road. He wore a greatcoat and hat, the lower part of his face hidden by a scarf as he passed by them to speak to Nicholas.
Moments later, Nicholas appeared at the window. “Allow me to present Friedrich Christian, Baron Holstein of Augustenburg, to you. He has kindly offered to help us. Baron, my wife, the Marchioness of Pennington, and her sister, Miss Arabella Leeming.”
The baron came to the window. He removed his top hat, scattering snow over his broad shoulders. He bowed. “Good evening, Marchioness Pennington, Miss Leeming.”
“Good evening,” Carrie said. “This is most kind of you.”
“Not at all. One must aid one’s fellows in need.”
Bella held her breath as the baron’s aquamarine eyes met hers. She tingled with a sudden awareness she did not understand.
He settled his top hat back over his thick pale hair lit with golden lights by the carriage lamps. She imagined he would be aged between twenty-five and thirty and would find her too young to be of interest. Though why she should care about it mystified her.
After a moment, he disappeared around the back of the coach.
“He is going to push the coach?” Carrie asked, surprised. “I expected his footman to do it, but he himself?” Apparently, he did, for with more cries of encouragement, the men all heaved. After a few tries, the wheels freed from the drift, and the coach lurched to a stop on safe ground. Nicholas spoke to the gentleman, but Bella could not hear what was said. He entered the coach, and their team of six horses pulled against the reins, steam surging from their nostrils. With a wave, the Austrian gentleman climbed into his coach, and they were on their way to Hampstead.
“How extraordinary,” Carrie remarked. “He seemed careless of his fine evening clothes.”
“A decent fellow,” Nicholas observed.
The rest of the journey proved uneventful, and as the snowstorm eased, they arrived unscathed at the home of the Count and Countess Von Abesnburg, the street lined with carriages. Candlelight and beautiful music flowed through the open front doors of the enormous stone mansion. Bella took a deep breath, her nervous anticipation was not entirely because of her upcoming performance; would the baron attend the ball? She hoped to see him again.
Nicholas escorted them inside to be greeted by the count and countess, an extremely tall, fair-haired couple. Bella sank into a low curtsey. “I am delighted you agreed to play the harp for us, Miss Leeming,” the countess said. “A friend attended a musical evening at Elm Park and was most impressed by your skill.”
“Thank you.” The countess’s words touched Bella deeply. She hoped to live up to such praise.
“Should you wish to discuss your music with the conductor, please do.”
There was a full orchestra on the dais. A shaft of unease shot through Bella, and her knees trembled. She had only performed alone.
The butler announced them to the guests in the elegant ballroom with a towering painted ceiling. The long room was lavishly decorated with greenery and holly, and mistletoe hung from the chandeliers. But it was the towering yew tree that took Bella’s breath away, each bow laden with tinsel, ribbons, and bright ornaments. Caught by its magnificence, she stared at it. Christmas trees were not popular in England, although she heard Queen Charlotte had adopted the practice. She breathed in the air scented with fragrant candle smoke, the crush of heated bodies overlaid with the lush greenery.
“A German tradition,” an accented masculine voice said in her ear.
Bella turned. Her body tingled, and her cheeks warmed as she looked up into the baron’s blue eyes. Her gaze roamed his face, admiring his smooth skin and classical nose, his blond hair swept back from a broad forehead.
Aware of the odd, quickened beat of her heart, she smiled. “It’s a lovely tradition.” She wanted to reach out and touch the blue silk of his sleeve to make sure he was real. She was obviously staring, and he knew it, his well-formed lips lifting in amusement. But he was so foreign and unlike any man she had met, it was a struggle for her to draw her gaze away. Embarrassed, she waved her hand to encompass the room. “Isn’t this wonderful? I’ve always had a strong connection to the natural world, the seasons, and the cycle of life in the forest.”
“I think you will enjoy this.” He nodded toward a group of carolers climbing the dais. “They are to singO Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,which honors the tree’s beauty.”
She could find no words as her gaze returned to the magnificent tree. The ornaments on its dark green foliage sparkled in the lights from the chandeliers, throwing out a myriad of rich, bright reflections.
The carolers burst into song.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How lovely are thy branches!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How lovely are thy branches!
Your boughs so green in summertime,
Stay bravely green in wintertime.
