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

Thirty years ago...

Lady Honora Radcliffe, young debutante, had had enough of this dinner party and enough of winter. She was fed up with her stays poking her under her arm and the ridiculous panniers that knocked over glasses on tables and caught on cuff buttons.

The Marchioness of Bath knew how to throw a party.

Such raucous laughter! Such bold flirtation.

It was more like a public tavern than a society dinner party.

Her elder brother was nowhere to be seen, although he should have been chaperoning her.

Maybe he trusted his hopefully-future-brother-in-law, Lord Charles, to keep an eye on Honora.

Too much of an eye, it seemed. She kept having to move away from him.

After upsetting a second glass, she shook the wine off her silver gown and made an excuse to withdraw.

Whatever. Her hostess didn't care. After all, everyone else was having a good time.

But instead of finding a servant to help her sponge wine out of the expensive fabric, she headed upstairs in hopes of quietude. Here lay darkness, with only a few candles here and there, sole circles of light. The sound of the party was muted here, as if only a memory.

At the end of the corridor she spied an open door, the gentle light of the room beyond spilling across the floor.

A library. What other room would have shelves lined with books, comfortable chairs and a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace?

But most important, it offered solitude.

Finally, peace. Honora approach the fireplace, holding out her hands. Let its warmth be a balm to her frazzled soul, to ease away the noise of Society. "Finally," she declared. "I'm alone."

A cough startled her. Whirling around, she found a young man in one of the chairs by the fire. "I beg your pardon," he said, rising. "I'm alone here too."

Once Honora's heart stopped hammering in her chest, she took a step back. "I did not realise someone was here. Everyone should be downstairs."

"You're not."

She turned, shaking her skirts once more, though that wine stain might be permanent now. Her lady's maid would tut at her. "I had an accident."

The young man returned to the chair. He could not have been more than a couple of years older than her, maybe two-and-twenty, no more.

While his brown hair sported most fashionable curls, he wore it unpowdered, adding to his youthful look.

His finely-tailored coat spoke of wealth and taste, down to the fine silver buckles on his shoes.

"I was one guest too many." He slumped back.

On the table next to him lay an empty plate and a single tankard for ale. He followed her gaze. He pushed the empty plate back as if ashamed. "At least the Marchioness did not toss me out."

"One guest too many?" Honora thought back to the raucous event downstairs. How many guests had there been? She'd not bothered to count.

He picked up the tankard. Alas, it was empty. In disappointment, he set it back to the table. "It seems thirteen is too unlucky a number for our Hostess."

Thirteen. "If Her Ladyship doesn't like the number thirteen, why did she invite that many guests?"

"Her Ladyship did not count on a nephew showing up out of the blue."

Honora folded her arms. "Then why not toss him out instead? Why you?"

The young man chuckled, a sad little sound. "Blood is thicker than water, one could say." He picked up the tankard and tilted it up as if to catch the last drop. "Or as thin as this ale."

Just because their host lacked in manners didn't mean this young man did. "Would you like to join me by the fire?"

Another chair sat opposite the fireplace, close enough to stretch out one's feet to the warmth without singeing clothing. Honora dropped herself in here.

"I'm a lesser son," the young man volunteered. "My only value in society is in making up numbers when lacking."

"Oh." Honora folded her hands in her lap. What else was one to say? She was a daughter of a well-to-do nobleman. Naturally, she had value in that alone. It was pure luck she was also fair of face. Plenty of young men bowed to her and kissed her hand.

She didn't fancy any of them, though. She leaned back in her chair. Was she supposed to make conversation with this unneeded guest, or did it not matter?

He resumed his plate, picking at its contents. "Oh," he uttered, as if he'd come to a realisation. "Have you had enough to eat?"

"I have had enough." She'd left in the middle of the third course. There were four more to go. "I thank you."

"Oh, good." He lifted a forkful of meat. "They'd only given me this one plate and I doubt I'll get more."

As he lifted the fork to his lips, he asked, "You don't mind if I eat?"

"No." Honora waved her hand. "Go ahead."

All she wanted to do was settle back and forget about the burden being social was. If all this young man wanted to do was eat and not bother her, fine by Honora.

Christmas, 1817

The library. Honora Mildmay straightened. "We'd be delighted." She took Edward's proffered arm.

Edward Russell. How long had it been since she'd spied him across a room? Even longer since she'd last spoken to him. Time and distance had not stilled her beating heart.

He had changed over the years, and yet he had not.

His hair, once a warm brown, was more silver than not.

Her own dark tresses had dulled to a grey, nothing so elegant as his.

He'd not gone portly about the middle, as many a man of his age was wont.

If anything, he looked more refined than ever.

No more the forgotten second son. He'd grown well into his role as the Earl.

Those eyes. She'd never forgotten those eyes that had gazed so deeply into her soul so many decades ago. No hand had caressed her skin as thoroughly as his eyes perused her. Her fingers teased along the low neck of her gown, itching to pull it lower, if only to let more of him in.

Juliana sighed. "Why not the parlour?" she muttered, so low only her mother heard her. "At least we could have been offered refreshments."

Honora gave her daughter's hand a chiding tap.

Their hostess surely wouldn't neglect them so soon upon arrival.

"You can ring the bell once we get there.

" So like Juliana, thinking with her stomach.

How the girl could shovel in so much food yet remain so skinny.

It was as if she couldn't eat enough. Then again, she had to beat off her older siblings when it came to food when young.

The library looked like every other library, its walls lined with unread books, a table or desk in the middle, and several comfortable chairs by a roaring fire. Behind her and Edward, the two young men—his sons—murmured quietly to one another.

"At least it's warm in here," Juliana muttered, taking up one of— "Oh!" she cried, rising from the chair just as she sat down.

"Blimey!" came a new voice from that same chair.

Everyone froze.

Juliana squeaked as her hands clamped over her mouth. She backed away, hitting the mantlepiece.

From the chair rose a portly young man, sequestering a book to his chest as if ashamed of being caught reading. "I beg your pardon," he stuttered, though none of this was his fault. He wore spectacles, pushing them up his nose.

Juliana said nothing, her hands still clamped over her mouth. Her gaze looked him over, then shot to the others in the room—her mother, Edward and his two sons. She moved not, a rabbit caught under a hawk's gaze.

It was Edward's eldest who broke the tension. "What are you doing lurking in here, Ashburton?" Kendall gave him a grin that was almost a sneer.

Ashburton, huh? Honora racked her brain for the Ashburton family. Earl of Baring, perhaps?

Young Ashburton took a step back. "Um..."

Juliana unfroze in a snap. "He was here first," she declared.

"I came here for some quiet," the Ashburton lad admitted. His gaze flickered Juliana's way, then shot off, as if he didn't want to be caught looking at her.

At her side, Edward sighed. "Forgive us for intruding on your solitude. Likewise, we sought our own." He shot Honora a smile that warmed her heart.

He made the introductions. This was Lord Bertram Ashburton, the eldest son of the Earl of Baring. Hah, she'd guessed correctly!

Juliana knew no one, at least, not formally. She'd already taken a dislike to Edward's sons. It was in how she wrinkled her nose every time she looked at them.

Honora completed the social necessity of introductions.

Bertram perked up. "Lady Juliana? Lovely name." He sounded genuine.

Kendall, Edward's eldest, gave a little snort, which Juliana heard. She planted her fists on her skinny hips. "It is a lovely name! It means 'youthful'."

Kendall opened his mouth. Before a retort could escape, both Edward and Honora spoke, their words overlapping.

"Don't—" Edward started as Honora said, "I'll have—" Both broke off at the same time, with embarrassed chuckles.

"You first," Edward conceded.

Honora delivered a warning: "I'll have you know she has several older brothers."

Kendall shot a glance to Jacob. "I'm sure I can hold my against them—"

Honora's chuckle caused his words to falter. "It's not my sons you must fear." She looked to Juliana, whose fists had not left her hips. Oh, she would defy these overproud young men to the end!

Kendal scoffed. "What? She going to beat me up?"

At her side, Edward groaned over his stupid son. "I'm sorry," he murmured to Honora. "I'm happy to let him learn the hard way."

"Does he learn the easy way?"

"I always hoped he might."

Thirty years ago...

So much for banishment. Instead of a solitary meal in a lonely library, Edward found himself in the company of a rather handsome young woman. Her dark hair had been pomade, curled, and powdered until it looked steely grey nearly the same colour as her silver gown.