Page 3 of Once Upon a Gilded Christmas (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #4)

And now here they were, having descended on Solehill House in an unfashionable but safe part of town.

It wasn't so far as to be considered truly country, yet was the sort of ride that would normally make one think twice about popping out for an afternoon, especially in winter. Long enough for the hot bricks to cool.

They had been invited a whole seven days.

The footman eased her out of her winter clothing.

She smoothed out the new fabric of her lavender gown.

It was the first day she dared wear lavender in public.

It would not do to show up to Lady Hammond's in widow's weeds.

Honora was so sick of black and grey. The whole world had been black and grey.

Lavender wasn't much better, but it had a certain warmth to it.

Juliana had been permitted any colour she wanted for the week (barring red and yellow). She'd chosen blue.

If anyone thought to count the days since the Late Earl's death, that would be a person with whom Honora had no desire to socialise.

This was one of Lady Hammond's parties. Honora knew exactly what she was up to.

Anyone else game enough to accept this invitation would not be in a position to criticise this widow.

As she and Juliana arrived, they were ushered in to a rather crowded hall. Two other families conversed with one another, their pleasantries so stiff frost nearly glazed the windows. Both had daughters. What kind of competition would they be?

Juliana sighed. Honora turned to her. "Save your regrets for when you need them."

Her daughter's gaze did not grace her two rivals but was directed upward. "I know my chances, but don't know about my choices." She turned away, a clear snub to whoever was upstairs.

Honora looked upward. What had caused—

Two curious young men looked down. Not bad, but—

A man she'd not seen in years stood next to them. His lush dark locks had thinned somewhat and were more silver than not. But that face! Those eyes, those warm, brown eyes, that had gazed so fondly upon her once upon a time.

A sigh escaped her chest and she laid a hand against her bosom. Did her heart still beat?

"Edward..." His name escaped her lips. She took one step forward, then another.

Without looking away, Edward flowed down the staircase, two baffled young men in his wake. His steps slowed as he approached, caution taking over.

It wasn't as if she intended to flee. How could she, being rooted to the spot as she was. She held out her hand.

He reached out, hesitant.

No, she was not to be snatched away again. She took his hand, lest he flee like the hesitant horse he seemed to be. "Hello," she breathed. His hand was warm, even through her gloves. Such a change from the world she had known this past year.

"Honora." Her name on his lips was like a devotion. He pulled her hand to his chest as if to bury it in his heart.

Someone said something. Edward shook himself. "Ah, yes. I... hear you lost... I mean. My condolences on your, um, recent bereavement."

"Thank you," she murmured. His voice! Still so gentle. It reminded her of warm chocolate on a frosty morning, to be sipped gently and savoured, the cup held close until the hands as well as the heart was warmed.

A voice broke through their moment. "I did not realise you were previously acquainted," said Lady Hammond.

Honora withdrew her hand from the man she once loved. "Oh, um... yes. His Lordship and I have been acquainted ever since my first Season."

"Interesting," added Lady Hammond. "I thought you moved in different circles."

"We... did," Edward added. "Our fathers were not politically affiliated." He turned back to Honora. "How long has it been. Thirty years?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Something like that.

" At the time, Edward had been a second son, hardly fitting for the eldest daughter of the glorious Earl of Derwent, who had insisted on being a most outspoken man until his death a few years ago.

Only the best for him, whether it be a fine new coat or a fine new son-in-law, one whose political alliances suited the late Earl of Derwent's aims.

Not that Honora cared. She had no heart for politics and only tolerated the duties such alliances imposed on the wife of a minor politician.

Thank goodness she was not called upon much to host this party and that dinner.

Her only regret: when one bases one's social circle purely on one's political party, it does make for rather dull company.

The social columns in the newspaper had no interest in such tedious gatherings where everyone was all "Yes, yes, rightly so," and where nothing of interest ever happened.

"I have been following your adventures," she said.

Every morning of her married life, she'd scanned the newspapers for his name.

The Earl and Countess of Lavistock had been a quiet couple with insufficient scandal or societal impact to make the papers beyond the usual hatches, matches and dispatches.

She'd learned of his marriage and the subsequent births of his children.

She read of his brother's death and Edward's rise to the title.

How she had itched to reach out to him, but never followed through.

Still, she scanned the papers. His daughters made splendid matches while his sons liked to dip their toes in scandal, yet not be fully immersed.

It was enough to make them interesting without raising too much alarm.

Racing horses here and there. The eldest once got into a fistfight over someone's honour, though the newspapers did not say who.

Only then did Honora come to full awareness of her surroundings. The two young men flanking Edward must be those sons. They did not look too much like him. Must have favoured their mother.

Honora had never met the Late Lady Russell. Never wanted to.

Introductions were made of the young ones

Kendall and Jacob were his sons' names. Juliana offered the barest of curtseys, already disapproving. "Charmed," she replied, sounding anything but.

Honora stepped in. To Kendall, she said. "I see you've recovered nicely from your last adventure."

This took the young man aback. "Have I? Which one?"

"The one where your horse threw you." Only it hadn't been his horse, but someone else's. That's why it had made the papers.

Kendall held out his hands. "In my defence, it was the saddle.

" He'd ridden into town and left his horse at a public stable while he went carousing.

Upon his return, the stable hands had brought out the wrong horse, same colour, with Kendall's same saddle.

After a few too many tankards, Kendall might not have been able to recognise his horse, but he did recognise his saddle.

Climbed on, tried to take off, and spooked the horse.

The horse threw him and ran off, just as the original owner came up. Likewise, his saddle had been put on the wrong horse. "That was my horse!" the other gentleman declared. "This is yours!"

Kendall got up and dusted himself off. He peered at his horse through his beer-addled wits. "Ah, so it is." With that, he climbed on the horse and took off home, ignoring the angry man behind him. All this had made it to the papers, much to Honora's amusement.

"No lasting injuries, I take it?" Honora asked.

Not when cushioned by alcohol. "In fairness," Kendall offered, "I did return the other fellow's horse the next morning."

Juliana folded her arms and rolled her eyes.

Edward cleared his throat. Clearly he had something he wanted to say, but it seemed his words had escaped him.

A knock on the front door broke the tension. Lady Hammond hastened to greet the next lot of her guests.

Edward found his voice. He offered his elbow to Honora. "Would..." he drew in a deep breath. "Would you like to join me—us—me by the fire in the library?"

Honora's own breath left her as a memory, as vivid as the day it was born, washed over her.