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SECRETS

Secret, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

Predicatively (esp. into keep secret): Kept from public knowledge, or from the knowledge of persons specified; not allowed to be known, or only by selected persons.

December 24

Beecham Manor

“I should tell you something before we arrive,” Will said as the carriage stopped at the black iron gates, opening to a long drive. Beecham Manor was a sprawling four-story house of limestone with multiple gables. “About the widow you are going to see…”

Charles tipped his head, studying Will. His friend seemed uncomfortable all at once, totally at odds with his usual easygoing persona. “A concern you have about Lady Winfield?”

“Not so much her as my brother, Lucius.” Will ran a hand through his thick brown waves. “He’s been in love with her for years. He may try to take your place.”

“If he can secure those mines for Uncle, I’d let him. Staying here with old friends, then returning home to my family, sounds like a much better plan.” Charles thought about the viscount and the widow. “Didn’t she marry a good friend of his?”

Will nodded. “More like stole her while he was away.”

“The woman had to be willing.”

“She was duped, but it’s water under the bridge.” Will nodded at the coach door. “We’ve arrived. I haven’t told them yet that the last suitor wasn’t able to come. There may be a bit of confusion concerning your presence at first.”

“You’re sure you aren’t trying to match me with your sister?”

Will laughed. “Absolutely not. She’s a gem to be sure, but I don’t think the two of you would be compatible.”

That was a relief. Charles heard his stomach rumble. They had skipped breakfast at the inn in order to reach their destination by late morning. Will had assured him there would be plenty of food once they arrived. As their boots crunched on the gravel, Annette, Will’s sister, came running from the side of the house, a blur of claret wool as she threw herself at her brother.

“Willy!” She was a pretty girl, er, woman, with dark-brown hair and sparkling green eyes. “Don’t you dare stay away so long again.”

“You could always visit me in London, Sister dear.” He kissed her cheek and twirled her about. “You look wonderful. The suitors must be agreeable?”

Her blush told him something was afoot. It would be the mystery of the day to figure out which one had taken her fancy.

“We’re getting ready to collect the greenery and mistletoe. Would you like to come?” she asked, her cheeks red from the cold.

“First, I’ve brought you a surprise,” he said. “Charles, come meet my sister.”

“Mr. Charles Wilkens, solicitor, associate, and friend. Lady Annette Page, my little sister.”

Charles bowed and removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure, my lady.”

“I thought you were bringing… What was the man’s name?” asked Lady Annette.

“It didn’t work out. We’ll say it’s for the best and leave it at that for now.” Will put an arm around his sister’s shoulders, and the trio made their way toward the portico steps.

“This is the surprise?” She looked with curiosity at Charles.

“I thought you would be happy I didn’t bring another suitor.”

Her smile was bright. A fitting reward. “I am, indeed.” She turned to Charles. “I’m sorry you are not able to be with family this Christmastide.”

“I shall return before the new year. I’ve been invited to another party. A widow sent a unique invitation to my uncle. She owns a coal mine he has been trying to purchase for years. We are hoping to convince her to sell.”

William grinned. “The widow happens to be Lady Winfield.”

Lady Annette gasped. “Does Lucius know?”

“He will soon enough.”

Charles was amused by Annette’s sly grin.

“Good day, gentlemen,” called another older man stepping onto the portico. “Just in time to help us collect pine boughs and such.”

William shook his head and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Weston. Have you enjoyed your visit so far?”

Lord Weston? Miss Phoebe Weston’s father? And the blaggard of a friend hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe Will hadn’t known.

The viscount beamed. “I don’t believe I’ve enjoyed myself so much in years.” Lord Weston may have responded to Will, but his eyes never left Lady Annette’s face.

Annette’s cheeks burned, and William arched a brow at her, glanced at Weston, then back at his sister. She shook her head ever so slightly, signaling, Charles assumed, to William to keep silent.

“Ah, yes. That’s… good,” William said, frowning at his sister. “Lord Weston, have you met Mr. Charles Wilkens? He’s a solicitor, and we’ve worked together often.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said the viscount, holding out his hand. He turned back to Annette. “Lady Henney ordered a wagon to be brought round. Shall we go ourselves?”

“Yes, please. I had thought to ride Domino and follow the wagon, but I find I’m a bit sore after this morning.”

At William’s insistence, she told him of her earlier fall. “No injuries, I just don’t feel up to the saddle today.”

“Of course,” all three agreed at once.

“Besides, it won’t be hard work.” William added, “Father pays some of the older tenants’ boys to collect plenty of pine boughs and mistletoe. We only go out ourselves and gather a bit to continue with tradition. It’s something we always did as children growing up.”

After Lady Annette and Lord Weston left, the butler arranged for their trunks to be unloaded. Both men handed off their hats and coats, and Charles followed Will to the breakfast room. His mouth watered when he saw Lucius filling a plate with eggs and ham. The scent of hot coffee tickled his nostrils. The temperatures had taken a dip the past couple of days, and the farther north they went, the colder it got. A hot drink with a little nip of brandy and food in his belly would be just the thing after a day and a half of travel.

Will’s brother looked at them over his shoulder as he added toast to his heaping plate.

“Brother,” cried William, “it’s good to see you again. My apologies for not being able to meet you at White’s before you left London.”

“Happy Christmas,” Lucius said as they thumped one another on the back. “Have you just arrived?”

“Yes. We ran into Nettie and Weston outside.” Will turned to Charles. “You remember Charles Wilkens, whom I work with in London? If your friends ever need a solicitor, he’s your man.” William was a barrister, and Charles often referred Will to present a legal action for a client.

“Mr. Wilkens.” Lucius inclined his head. “Where is the other…”

“The gentleman was unable to make it. However, I ran into Charles on his way to another house party. So, I convinced him to stay with us a night before he continued on to Falcon Hall .” Will grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling as he mentioned the location.

Charles saw an immediate spark of interest in Lord Page’s green eyes. The viscount’s head snapped up. “Are you well acquainted with Lady Winfield?” he asked.

“No, my lord. My uncle, Sir Horace Franklin, has been trying to buy two slate mines from her. They are located in Wales, next to two that he owns. She has put him off for over two years, and then he received an invitation of sorts to her estate over Christmastide.” Charles shrugged. “As his solicitor, I was tasked to go in his stead.”

“It seems one must have a personal invite to be admitted. The wording is quite cryptic.” Will grinned at Charles. “Would you mind showing it to him?”

Charles set down the satchel he’d brought from the coach, opened it, and pulled out a thick lavender card with holly and ivy entwined around the edges. He handed it to Lucius.

Admits bearer to the private house party

Of the Countess of Winfield at Falcon Hall.

Guests shall arrive 24 December.

The competition for the desired prize begins 25 December thru 6 January.

Lady Winfield will only accept the proposal of the gentleman

Claiming victory of three or more challenges.

The favor of an answer is requested.

Lord Page’s mouth fell open. “Mr. Wilkens, I have questions and a proposition for you.”

Within the hour, the viscount had convinced Charles that not only would he secure the mines for his uncle, but make sure there was a generous stipend for Charles. “I can also recommend you in London and the surrounding area. Unless you have too much business already?” Lord Page raised a dark brow.

“I’m always happy to take on another client,” Charles admitted. “However, I am concerned…”

“That I will make matters worse?” asked Lord Page. “Because I was not invited personally?”

Charles, embarrassed by the situation, nodded. “My uncle entrusted me with this task?—”

“I will not disappoint you or your uncle,” the viscount assured him. “The widow will be surprised to see me but not unhappy.”

For some reason, Charles believed him. The earnest and determined look in the man’s green eyes was the final push. “Fine, then. Please send me word as soon as you know something.”

With that, Lord Page dashed from the room, his full plate forgotten. Will sat down in front of it and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t stand on ceremony, my friend. Get yourself some breakfast.”

Later that afternoon, as Charles was getting to know the other three suitors for Lady Annette, he noticed the easy dialogue between Will’s sister and Lord Weston. What would Miss Weston think about her father cozying up with a woman closer to her age than her father’s? Charles decided he certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell her.

With that thought, the vision of said woman appeared in the doorway, auburn curls in disarray, brown eyes flashing with anger. He blinked. Too much brandy? Then the full-figured beauty stomped across the room to stand before her father. When she spoke, Charles realized Miss Phoebe Weston had truly appeared at Beecham Manor.

“Please pardon this untimely interruption,” she announced as all the men hurried to stand at the unexpected intrusion, “but I must speak to my father.” With that, she spun on her heel and returned to the hallway.

Lord Weston rose from his chair, cheeks stained with embarrassment, and made his apologies as he followed his daughter from the room.