his concern, so she curtseyed to him. ‘Very well. I will send you any serious contenders for my hand. Although I assure you there will be no such men, nor does it bother me. I am quite content to stay as I am.’
He looked at her critically, and for a change he was serious. ‘I do not believe you. I do not know what happened before your father sent you to rusticate, or why it set you so totally off the masculine gender, but I wish it could be otherwise.’
‘I have nothing against the masculine gender,’ she argued. In fact, she had found one in particular to be most to her liking. ‘I could think of little else for the brief time I was in London, before Father showed me the error of my behaviour and sent me home.’
‘You are too hard on yourself, darling. To have been obsessed with love and marriage made you no different from other girls of your age.’
‘I was still an ill-mannered child, and my rash behaviour gave many a distaste of me.’ She had heard the words from his lips so many times that she sounded almost like her father as she said them. ‘I am sure that the men of London breathed a hearty sigh of relief when I was removed from their numbers before the season even began.’ At least that was true. At least one of them had been more than glad to see the last of her.
‘But it has been years, Rosalind. Whatever it was that proved the last straw to your father, it has been forgotten by everyone else. I think you would find, if you gave them a chance, that there are many men worthy of your affection and eager to meet you. There are a dozen in my set alone who would do fine for you. But if you insist on avoiding London, then I must bring London to you.’
‘Harry,’ she said, with sudden alarm, ‘tell me you have not done what I suspect you have.’
‘And whatever is that, sister dear?’
‘You have not used the Christmas holiday as an opportunity to fill this house with unattached men in an attempt to make a match where none is desired.’
He glanced away and smiled. ‘Not fill the house, precisely.’
And suddenly she knew why he had been so cagey with the guest list, giving her rough numbers but no names. ‘It is all ruined,’ she moaned.
‘I fail to see how,’ he answered, being wilfully oblivious again.
‘There should be a harmonious balance in the genders if a party is to be successful. And it sounds as though you have not invited a single family with a marriageable daughter, nor any young ladies at all. Tell me I will not be the lone partner to a pack of gentleman from your club.’
He laughed. ‘You make them sound like a Barbarian invasion, Rosalind. You are being far too dramatic.’
She shook her finger at him. ‘You will see the way of things when we stand up for a dance and there is only me on the ladies’ side.’
He ignored her distress. ‘I do not care-not if you are presented to best advantage, dear one. This party will give you a chance to shine like the jewel you are.’
‘I will appear, if anyone notices me at all, to be a desperate spinster.’
‘Wrong again. You assure me you are not desperate, and you are hardly old enough to be a spinster.’ He held her by the hands and admired her. ‘At least you certainly do not look old enough.’
‘That has been the problem all along,’ she said. ‘When I came of age I looked too young to consider.’
‘Many women long for your problem, dear. When you are too old, I expect they will hate you for your youth. It is something to look forward to.’
‘Small comfort.’
‘And you needn’t worry. You will not be the only female, and I have not filled the house to the roof with prospective suitors. I believe you will find the company quite well balanced.’ He smiled as though he knew a secret. ‘But should you find someone present who is to your liking, and if he should like you as well, then I will be the happiest man in England. And to that end, I wish you to play hostess to my friends and to try to take some joy in it for yourself, even though it means a great deal of work.’ He was looking at her with such obvious pride and hope for her own welfare that she felt churlish for denying him his party.
‘Very well, Harry. Consider my good behaviour to be a Christmas gift to you. Let us hope, by the end of the festivities, that the only cooked geese are in the kitchen.’
For the next two days, Rosalind found herself buffeted along with the increasing speed of events. Harry’s carriage was unpacked, and servants were set to preparations. But they seemed to have no idea how to proceed without continual supervision, or would insist that they knew exactly what was to be done and then do the tasks in a manner that was obviously wrong. It was just as it had been since the moment she had stepped over the threshold and into Elise’s shoes. At least she’d managed to gain partial co-operation, by begging them to do things as Elise would have wanted them done, as proof of their loyalty to her and in honour of her memory.
It sounded to all the world as if the woman had died, and she’d been left to write her eulogy instead of run her house. But the servants had responded better to her moving speech then they had to anything she could offer in the way of instruction. At some point, she would have to make her brother stir himself sufficiently to retrieve his wife from London. For Rosalind was not welcome in the role of mistress here, nor did she desire it. But it must wait until after the holidays, for she had made Harry a promise to help him for Christmas and she meant to stick to it, until the bitter end.
At last the house was in some semblance of readiness, and the guests began to come-first in a trickle and then a flood. Arrivals were so frequent that the front door was propped open, despite the brisk wind that had arisen. A steady fall of snow had begun in the late afternoon and followed people across the stone floor in eddies and swirls. She busied herself with providing direction to servants, and praying that everyone would manage to find their way to the same room as their baggage.
Couples and families were talking loudly, shaking the snow from their coats and wraps and remarking in laughing tones about the deteriorating condition of the roads and the need for mulled wine, hot tea, and a warm fire. It seemed that Rosalind was continually shouting words of welcome into an ever-changing crowd, promising comfort and seasonal joy once they were properly inside, making themselves at home. Just to the left, the library had been prepared to receive the guests, for the sitting room would be packed solid with bodies should she try to fit all the people together in that room. The great oak reading tables had been pushed to the edges of the room and heaped with plates of sandwiches and sweets, along with steaming pots of tea, carafes of wine and a big bowl of punch.
There were sounds of gratitude and happiness in response, and for a moment she quite forgot the trouble of the last week’s preparation. And although at times she silently cursed her brother for causing the mess, she noticed that he was behaving strangely as he moved through the hubbub, making many restless journeys up and down the stairs. It was as if he was anticipating something or someone in particular, and his pleasure at each new face seemed to diminish, rather than increase, when he did not see the person he expected.
And then the last couple stepped through the open doorway.
‘Rosalind!’ Elise threw her arms wide and encompassed her in an embrace that was tight to the point of discomfort. ‘So you are the one Harry’s found to take the reins.’
‘Elise?’ The name came out of her as a phlegm-choked moan. ‘I had no idea that Harry had invited you.’
‘Neither does Harry,’ Elise whispered with a conspiratorial grin. ‘But how can he mind? This was my house for so long that I think I should still be welcome in it, for a few days at least. And since he made such a kind point of inviting my special friend, he must have meant to include me. Otherwise he would have left me quite alone in London for the holidays. That cannot have been his intention.’
‘Special friend?’ Elise could not mean what she was implying. And even if she did, Rosalind prayed she would not have been so bold as to bring him here. If Elise had taken a lover, Rosalind suspected that it was very much Harry’s intention to split the two up.
‘Have you met? I doubt it. Here, Nicholas-meet little Rosalind, my husband’s half-sister. She is to be our hostess.’
When she saw him, Rosalind felt her smile freeze as solid as the ice on the windowpanes. Nicholas Tremaine was as fine as she remembered him, his hair dark, his face a patrician mask, with a detached smile. It held none of the innocent mirth of their first meeting but all of the world-weariness she had seen in him even then. And, as it had five years before, her heart stopped and then gave an unaccustomed leap as she waited for him to notice her. ‘How do you do, Mr…?’
But it was too much to hope that he had forgotten her. ‘I believe we’ve met,’ he said, and then his jaw clenched so hard that his lips went white. He had paused on the doorstep, one boot on the threshold, snow falling
