But she had learned to pretend to be sensible. And she had learned to pretend that it was bearable. She had learned to hold on to her childish dreams.
To say that he was feeling annoyed was to understate the case. He disliked Christmas. He had disliked it for most of his adult years. It was all just a parcel of nonsense as far as he was concerned. He liked to remove himself from town and all other centers of merriment well before the collective madness set in and take himself off to Cosway, his country seat, where he could wait out the season in quietness and sanity.
The trouble was that his family knew it and saw him as being available to care for unwanted relatives. Not that it had ever happened before, it was true, but it was happening this year, and he knew that it would happen again, that he was setting a trend this year that he would regret forever after. His sister and brother-in-law had decided entirely on the spur of the moment to spend Christmas with friends in Italy and had disposed of the minor inconvenience of a fifteen-year-old daughter by informing him-yes, Susannah had told him, not asked him-that she would spend Christmas with him at Cosway.
What, in the name of all that was wonderful, was he going to do with a fifteen-year-old niece for a few weeks? And at Christmas, of all times?
What he would do, he had decided at once, having neglected the obvious solution of telling his elder sister that she must change her plans, that he just would not do it-what he would do was enlist the help of someone else. Some female who had no other plans for Christmas.Someone who would be pleased enough to spend it at Cosway, keeping Deborah out of mischief. And out of his way.
Agatha, in fact. But Agatha, his maiden aunt, had been invited to spend the week of Christmas with her dear friends, the Skinners, in Bath, and while she hated to inconvenience her dear nephew and great-niece, she really could not disappoint the Skinners this close to Christmas.
When Viscount Buckley descended from his carriage outside Miss Phillpotts’s school and had himself announced to speak with the headmistress herself, he was scowling. And his mood matched his expression exactly.
“Deborah will be very delighted to learn that her uncle, the viscount, has come in person to convey her home for the holidays, my lord,” Miss Phillpotts said to him, smiling graciously.
His lordship sincerely doubted it. Especially when the child discovered that her parents had taken themselves off to Italy without a word to her. He felt sorry for the girl, if the truth were known. But he felt sorrier for himself.
“I suppose, ma’am,” he said, without allowing himself to feel even the faintest glimmering of hope, “that there is not another young lady at the school who has nowhere to go for the holiday? Someone who could come with my niece and be company for her over Christmas?”
“I am afraid not, my lord,” the headmistress said. “All our girls will be leaving today.”
The viscount sighed. “It was a faint hope,” he said. “I am not much in practice as far as entertaining very young ladies is concerned, ma’am.”
Or as far as celebrating Christmas was concerned. And Deborah would doubtless want to celebrate it. Damn!
“It is indeed kind of you to be willing to extend your hospitality to another young lady,” Miss Phillpotts said. “But the only person who will be remaining at the school apart from three servants is Miss Craggs.”
Miss Craggs sounded like an elderly tyrant. But Viscount Buckley was somewhat desperate. “Miss Craggs?” he said.
“One of my teachers,” Miss Phillpotts explained.
Undoubtedly a tyrant.Poor Deborah. She would probably hate him forever for asking the question he was about to ask.
“Is there any possibility,” he asked, “that she would be willing to accompany us to Cosway?”
“I believe she would be delighted, my lord,” the headmistress told him.
“Shall I send her down to you? I see that Sir Humphrey Byrde’s carriage has arrived.” She glanced toward the window, which looked down onto a cobbled courtyard. “I should go to greet him.”
The viscount bowed his acquiescence and wandered to the window while Miss Phillpotts left the room to see another of her pupils on her way.
Damn Susannah and Miles! How could they think of going off to Italy for Christmas when they had a young daughter to care for? And how could they think of leaving her with him when they knew he did not celebrate Christmas? But then Susannah had always been the flighty, selfish one, quite different from their other two sisters. She was the youngest of the three and by far the most beautiful.
He had a suspicion that Susannah had never wanted children.
He thought briefly of his own child. Had he reminded his secretary to send her a gift? But then Aubrey would remember without a reminder. Part of his job was to remember what his employer was likely to forget.
He turned when the door opened behind him. She was not elderly, and despite her name, she did not look like a tyrant.
“Miss Craggs?” he said.
She inclined her head.
She was not elderly at all. She was probably five or six years younger than he, in fact. She was rather tall, and slender almost to the point of thinness. She had a rather thin, pale face, with fair hair smoothed back into a bun at her neck. Her gray dress was of cheap fabric and was high-waisted but made no other concession to fashion. Only her eyes saved her from being so nondescript that she might have faded entirely into her surroundings. Her eyes were dark gray and long-lashed. And they appeared to have such depth that he had the strange feeling that most of her living must be done very far within herself.
“Miss Craggs.” He took a few steps toward her. “I understand that you will be staying here for Christmas?”
“Yes, my lord.” Her voice was unexpectedly low and soft.
“You are expecting company?” he asked. “There would be someone to miss you if you were not here?”
Her face did not change expression. And yet he was given the impression that far within herself, where her living was done, she grimaced. “No, my lord,” she said.
“I am Deborah Latimer’s uncle,” he said. “Warren Nash, Viscount Buckley, at your service, ma’am. Would it be possible to persuade you to come with us to my country seat in Hampshire? My sister and her husband, Deborah’s parents, have gone to Italy and left her in my care. Frankly, I do not know what I am to do with a fifteen-year-old over Christmas. I need a female companion or chaperon for her. Will you come?”
There was the merest flicker in her eyes. Nothing more. He had never known a woman who was so impassive. He had always thought of women as open books, their emotions as clear to view as the words on a page. He had never had any problem knowing what his various mistresses felt or thought.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
He waited for more, for some questions or conditions. But she said nothing else. Her eyes, he noticed, were focused, not on his, but on his chin or thereabouts.
“I would guess that Deborah is eager to leave,” he said. “How soon can you be ready, Miss Craggs?”
“Half an hour?” she said.
Half an hour! Good Lord, most women of his acquaintance would have asked for two or three days. He inclined his head to her. “Would you have Deborah sent to me?” he asked as she turned to leave the room.
Damn Susannah, he thought, too irritated to think of an original way mentally to censure his sister. How was he supposed to break the news to his niece?
Miss Craggs looked as if she had about as much joy in her as would half fill a thimble. A thimble for a small finger.
Damn!
She could not remember going farther from the school than could be accomplished on foot. She could not remember riding in a carriage. She could not remember being in company with a gentleman for longer than a minute or two at a time, except the dancing master who came in to teach the girls. She was usually chosen to partner him when he taught them the steps because he was not allowed to touch any of the girls, and none of the other teachers was willing to tolerate his lavishly insincere compliments and his moist hands.
She was not sure if she was glad or sorry to be where she was. At first she had been numbed with the strangeness and wonder of it. She was going on a holiday. She was going to spend Christmas at a private home in Hampshire. The home of Viscount Buckley. She was not going to be alone at the school, as she always had been for
