Page 112 of How the Belle Stole Christmas
Gloucestershire, England
Miss Claire Meyer snuggled deeper into the interior of her deep blue, fur-lined pelisse and lifted her gloved hand to knock on the thick, hard wood door that looked as if it had been standing for far longer than the past century.
In truth, the entire exterior of the manor was something out of a Gothic novel.
With its grey edifice and Elizabethan style architecture, it had a chilling and imposing silence as she had walked through the front iron gates and first beheld it in the evening moonlight.
When her summons was finally answered by a stern-faced man who looked down his nose at her as if he were the master of this grand manor rather than the hired help, she dared to offer a slight smile as she cleared her throat. “Good evening. I’m here to see the Earl of Darville.”
“The master doesn’t receive callers.”
Claire had been told this might not be an easy task. She shored up her courage. “I’m not exactly a caller.” She reached into her reticule and handed the butler a carefully folded letter. “This should detail my arrival.”
He sniffed and took the missive. “I shall inquire. Wait here.”
She had no more than opened her mouth before that massive door was slammed in her face. “Really, I couldn’t have been asked to wait in the foyer?” she grumbled.
Rubbing her hands together in an attempt to keep them warm, she thought of the nice man in the wagon who had brought her down from the local village after she’d arrived by public transport from London.
It had been a long, grueling day of travel and she was eager to get some rest and something to eat.
She was starting to wonder if she might be facing a lengthy walk back to Tetbury in the dark instead.
Ignoring the warnings from everyone in London and beyond, even from the nice man in the wagon, she was determined to see this quest through until its completion.
She owed that much to Lady Mimbley. Anne had dared to heed her instructions when no one wanted to listen to a woman.
However, when it was apparent that the aches that pained the elder lady began to ease with the teachings that Claire had learned during her tenure in Switzerland with her father, she was determined to help people with the same knowledge that she had learned.
But it would be easier done if the doors didn’t keep slamming in her face.
Quite literally, as it were.
Lady Mimbley, who happened to be Lord Darville’s aunt, had insisted that she make an entreaty to her nephew, who had sustained a serious leg injury in the war with Napoleon.
She was the one who had provided the funding for this journey and to whom Claire owed a great debt.
She did not want to go back to London with another failure attached to her name.
Not only would it dishearten the poor woman who wished that her nephew might rejoin society, but Claire wasn’t sure she could bear the weight of another misfortune.
When the door opened once again, she was expecting just that, but she was surprised when the butler swung the door wide and stepped aside. “The master will see you.”
Claire couldn’t believe it, and yet, she dared not declare victory just yet.
She had heard from the villagers during the short time she’d been waiting for a ride to this nearly deserted part of the Cotswolds, that Lord Darville was a lout, a complete curmudgeon of the worst sort.
They said that it was difficult to find servants to remain, as while the wage was good, the sour attitude that accompanied it had caused more than one maid to leave in tears.
As Claire walked inside and the door shut behind her, she was escorted around the corner to the great hall.
It was an impressive room with dark, carvings and a white marble fireplace that seemed almost out of place.
There was a flickering fire in the hearth that made her yearn to draw closer and rid herself of the chill that had crept into her very bones, but she stopped when she saw the long legs in tan breeches and tall black boots sticking out from a chair near the mantel.
It didn’t escape her notice that there was also a crystal decanter sitting on a table next to him that was nearly empty.
Something told her it had not been that way to start.
“Miss Meyer, my lord.” With that, the butler took his leave and it was up to Claire to try to plead her case.
Again, she opened her mouth, but a hand lowered to show an empty tumbler. “So my aunt sent you to heal me?”
The sardonic tenure of his deep voice, while quite pleasant in tone, did not soothe her trepidation. “Yes, my lord. I was able to ease some of her vexing problems, and she urged me to come.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “Do you know how many predecessors claimed the same as you are now?” A derisive snort followed.
“I have endured more doctor’s lectures and tinctures and herbal remedies to last a thousand lifetimes.
Each one of them believes that they have the miracle I require.
What makes you any different from them?”
The glass was set aside in favor of the bottle on the table. She heard him take several gulps then it was empty as well. Oh, dear.
Deciding that she would not attempt to coerce him any longer, she stiffened her spine and spoke candidly. “Lord Darville, I am aware of your struggles and all those false promises. Lady Mimbley was quite forthcoming with the information.”
Another snort came from the chair.
“I am not here to offer hope or anything of the sort. I am merely here to see if some of the new remedies that I have overseen will be of any use to you. That is all.”
“And if your treatment fails, what then? Shall you just waltz out of here and return to your pleasant existence and leave me to rot like everyone else has done?”
She blinked at the soft vehemence in his voice. “My lord, I can assure you—”
A cane suddenly came up and smashed against a porcelain vase as the master of the house rose to his feet.
With his right leg stiff, he was still a formidable man to behold as he looked at her with bleary, green eyes and dark hair falling haphazardly over his brow.
His jaw was as stiff as the set of his broad shoulders and without a jacket or waistcoat, his white cambric shirt hung loosely off his upper torso with a tempting but dangerous air.
“I don’t want to be assured of anything; do you understand?
” he snapped. “I want to be left in peace for whatever miserable life I have left on this earth and give a sigh of relief when it is finally over. I did not ask for your help; nor do I require it. You may tell my aunt that her actions are not welcome, and if she wishes to address my infirmity again, she can damned well go to hell.” He kept his focus riveted on her as he bellowed, “Tobin!” As the butler reappeared almost instantly, Claire had the feeling he hadn’t gone far because he knew how this meeting would go. “Show our guest back out the door.”
The butler hesitated for a moment, but Claire had no such compunctions. “My lord, the man who gave me a ride here has already retreated to the village. I would have to walk all the way back to—”
“That is your misfortune. You are not welcome here.”
With that, he collapsed into his chair, as if he found it difficult to remain standing for long.
Claire should be furious at his crass demeanor, but instead, she found herself only wanting to help that much more.
She understood that pain and anguish could often cause people to lash out unnecessarily.
When the butler would have escorted her out, she stood her ground and continued to confront her nemesis.
“I shall not trouble you further, my lord, but after I have a good night’s rest and something to eat.
I will not subject myself to frostbite or death merely because you are in a drunken, foul temper.
” She didn’t wait for a reply, but turned to the butler and demanded, “Take me to the kitchens where I will wait until such time a room can be prepared. I do not care if it is in the servant’s wing.
I just need someplace warm for the night. ”