Page 4 of The Christmas Ball (Noble Holidays #9)

A Christmas tree? Grayson exchanged a look with his sister.

The Beckford household certainly seemed overfond of their greenery.

Charlotte gave him a small smile as the two of them turned their mounts to follow the duchess and Lady Viola.

Lady Viola Harrington.

Damn and blast, but he couldn’t stop thinking of her.

Even now, it was impossible to keep his gaze from her elegant neck, where her glossy hair looped like a raven’s wing over her pale nape.

He knew the scent of her: roses underlaid with the peppery spice of geranium.

A fitting perfume for a lady of her temperament.

He’d nearly kissed her, in that moment when the first flakes drifted from the sky.

And for an instant, he’d thought she would welcome his attentions.

Then she’d pushed him away, that flash of desire he’d glimpsed in her eyes banished by annoyance.

It was most ungentlemanly of him to even be contemplating such a thing, but thoughts of her tormented him.

He couldn’t count the number of mornings he’d awoken and had to tend to a certain bodily stiffness before his mind settled enough that he could go about his day.

As if feeling his gaze upon her, Lady Viola turned in the saddle and gave him a cool look.

“Thank you for your company, Lord Winslow, Lady Charlotte”

she said.

“but I don’t believe we’re in need of your assistance any longer.”

“Viola,”

Lady Beckford said softly.

“don’t be rude to our neighbors.”

“It’s snowing,”

Lady Viola continued, ignoring her sister-in-law.

“One wouldn’t want to keep you out in the weather any longer.”

“On the contrary,”

Grayson said, mostly to provoke her.

“if your brother requires assistance, then the more hands available, the better. We’ll soon have his cart out of the mud, and then everyone will be free to go home.”

“If you insist.”

She gave a little toss of her head and swiveled back around in the saddle.

Her spine was very stiff, and he couldn’t help smiling at her rigid posture, offset by the jaunty little riding hat she’d pinned on top of her dark tresses.

At his side, Charlotte gave him a thoughtful look, but he refused to meet her eyes.

His sister could draw whatever conclusions she wished, but he’d no intention of enlightening her as to the state of affairs between himself and Lady Viola.

If there even was a state, considering their awkward history.

When they reached the road, the snow began coming down in earnest.

The trio of footmen ducked their heads against the weather, two of them pulling a hand cart piled high with greenery.

Everyone stayed on the verge of the road as much as possible, as the center was indeed a muddy mess.

No wonder Lord Thornton had gotten stuck.

Grayson made a mental note to inspect the condition of the roads at Westbrook.

One more thing to tend to, but he didn’t mind.

Now that the manor house roof had been repaired and the interior quite comfortably refurbished, he was ready to turn his attention to the grounds and surrounding fields.

Come spring, he had big plans.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the stranded cart hauling the Christmas tree.

Grayson blinked to see the enormous evergreen, the top of it protruding a good three feet past the end of the vehicle.

A draft horse was hitched to the front of the cart, a grizzled fellow upon the bench holding the reins.

“Theo,”

Lady Viola called, waving at a gentleman standing, hands on his hips, beside the cart.

“Vi!”

He grinned.

“I’m glad to see you’ve brought reinforcements.”

His boots were muddy, his coat spattered, and Grayson surmised he’d been pushing the cart from behind while the driver encouraged the horse forward.

“You’re lucky we were out collecting greenery.”

Lady Viola drew rein, then gestured to Grayson and his sister.

“These are our neighbors, Lord Winslow and his sister, Lady Charlotte.”

“Theodore Harrington, Viscount Thornton, at your service,”

the viscount said, doffing his hat with a bow.

“I’d heard you were considering purchasing Westbrook. Welcome to Yorkshire. Other than terribly muddy roads, I trust you’ll find it agreeable.”

“Now that it’s snowing, I’m quite content,”

Charlotte said.

“Though I’m sorry your cart got stuck.”

“As am I.”

Lord Thornton glanced at the mired wheels.

“Now that help has arrived, I’ve no doubt we can free it.”

He strode to the back of the cart and the footmen joined him. Grayson slid off his mount, handed the reins to his sister, and made to join them.

“You’ll get muddy,”

Charlotte warned.

“Then I’ll be in good company.”

He wasn’t so high in the instep that a bit of labor was beneath him, especially as Lord Thornton had clearly set to without a second thought.

Grayson placed his hands on the boards beside Lord Thornton, who gave him an approving look.

“Ready?”

the viscount asked, glancing at the footmen to his right.

Everyone nodded and Lord Thornton called to the driver to go. The horse strained, the men pushed with all their might, and for a moment nothing happened. The cart refused to budge.

Then, with a sucking sound, the wheels slurped out of the mud and the cart jolted forward. Grayson staggered, his boots slipping in the mud, and went ungracefully down on his hands and knees. He wasn’t alone. Two of the footmen also fell, one of them going full length in the mud, to the amusement of his companions. Lord Thornton managed to stay upright, and offered Grayson his hand.

“Sorry about that,”

he said, helping Grayson to his feet.

“I didn’t mean to coat you in mud for your troubles.”

“I knew the risks.”

Grayson glanced down at his brown-slimed breeches and coat.

“At least your tree has escaped its muddy doom.”

It wouldn’t be a pleasant ride home, mud-covered and in the snow, but he’d make the best of it.

“You must continue on to Dovington with us,”

Lady Beckford said from the safety of the embankment.

“I’m certain one of the gentlemen can lend you a fresh coat and breeches.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,”

he said, but the duchess waved away his protests.

“Not at all. Besides, it’s snowing. You and Lady Charlotte have come quite out of your way, and I wouldn’t want you to suffer on our account.”

If it was just him, Grayson would have endured the ride home, but his sister deserved better. Despite himself, he shot a look at Lady Viola, who was watching him. As soon as their eyes met, she flicked her gaze away.

“Your tree doesn’t seem any worse for the wear,”

she said to her brother.

“Thank you for going to the trouble to fetch it from Knavesmire Wood.”

“Knavesmire?”

Charlotte asked.

“That’s quite the distance, isn’t it?”

“I stop over with the Earl of Hartley and his family,”

Lord Thornton said.

“His son, Lord Ashby, is a longtime friend of mine.”

“They’re coming to the ball,”

Lady Viola said.

“Both Lady Holly and her sister are lovely young women. I hope you passed a pleasant time at Hartley House.”

Lord Thornton’s mouth twisted in a wry smile.

“Indeed. But enough chatter. Let’s away to Dovington!”

***

As soon as the party reached Dovington, Theo took Lord Winslow away to change into fresh clothing, while Mena bustled off to confer with the housekeeper about refreshments.

Viola escorted Lady Charlotte to the blue parlor and they settled near the fire, waiting for the others to rejoin them.

“I’m glad it’s snowing,”

Lady Charlotte said, her gaze going to the large, velvet-draped window.

Outside, flakes drifted gently down, though in Viola’s estimation the flurry wouldn’t last too much longer. If she were lucky, there’d be enough accumulation that she could fashion a snowball or two to pelt her brothers with before it all melted.

It was a tradition of theirs, to try and ambush one another with the first snowball of the season. Some years there wasn’t enough snow at all, while other times the entire landscape was blanketed in white.

“It is cozy,”

she agreed.

“Last year, we’d enough snowfall to go sleighing, but this year seems less promising. Though I suppose that could change. How are you finding Yorkshire so far?”

Lady Charlotte tilted her head.

“I like it well enough, though I’m finding it rather quiet. I’m glad you’re hosting a ball.”

“I’m pleased you can attend,”

Viola said, though it was not entirely true.

“Speaking of which…”

Lady Charlotte gave her a direct look.

“What, precisely, is between you and my brother?”

Viola blinked, felt her smile slip, then plastered it securely upon her face once more.

“Why, nothing at all,”

she said brightly.

Lady Charlotte’s gaze narrowed.

“I’ve been observing the two of you all afternoon, and I know my brother. I’ve never seen him quite so captivated by a lady before.”

“Oh, I’m certain that’s not the case,”

Viola said hastily.

“We’ve scarcely met. Or perhaps he’s formed a one-sided attachment. Such things do happen, you know. I’m sure it will pass.”

Although sometimes that recovery took years, as she knew all too well. After that terrible Season, Drew had accused her of becoming too reserved, too withdrawn from the Marriage Mart. She could not argue with him. Once bitten, as they said.

It was only at Dovington that she felt she could truly be herself—which made Lord Winslow’s constant interference all the more galling.

Here in Yorkshire, she was supposed to be free of censure! Instead, she had a gray-eyed lord looking down his nose at her every time she turned around.

“Hm.”

Lady Charlotte regarded her a moment longer, then thankfully changed the subject.

“Tell me more about this Christmas tree your brother has brought.”

Viola felt her tension ease, and gladly launched into an explanation of how the family had adopted the Queen and Prince Albert’s new tradition.

“Our Christmas tree was so beautiful, last year,”

she said.

“I’ve decided it’s to be the centerpiece of the ball. I don’t suppose you saw the one at Buckingham Palace?”

“Only the color plates depicting it,”

Lady Charlotte replied.

“I can’t imagine what it must look like in person.”

Viola waxed eloquent on the subject of silver-foil garlands and tiny candles, until Mena arrived in the parlor.

Two maids trailed her with trollies of refreshments.

The air was suddenly redolent with the warm spice of mulled cider and gingerbread, and Lady Charlotte sniffed appreciatively.

“Is that gingerbread?”

she asked, eyeing the tray of sweets.

“It is,”

Mena said, clearly pleased.

“Or rather, the local variant, called parkin cake.”

“It looks delicious,”

their guest said.

“It is,”

a voice declared from the hallway, and a moment later Drew strode in, followed by Theo and Lord Winslow.

Mena introduced her husband to Lady Charlotte, the gentlemen settled into the other chairs, and they were soon all eating gingerbread and drinking cider.

It was quite convivial, Viola thought, other than the fact that Lord Winslow was, as his sister had noted, looking at her rather often.

It didn’t help matters that his borrowed breeches hugged his muscled thighs closely, and his gold-colored hair curled damply over his forehead.

Drat it.

Viola dragged her attention from the marquess and joined in the conversation, careful not to look at Lord Winslow more often than was strictly necessary.

After an hour, the snow began to let up, and their neighbors rose and took their leave. The family saw them to the door, where Theo once again proffered his thanks for Lord Winslow’s help with the tree.

“We’ll have your breeches and coat laundered and sent over,”

Theo said.

“Mm. We’re making rather a habit of that,”

Mena said under her voice to Viola, who poked her in the ribs.

The last thing Viola needed was for her brothers to learn about her most unfortunate first encounter with the Marquess of Winslow.

If the particulars were known, it would be pistols at dawn, or some other ridiculous honor-bound endeavor.

Truly, despite the indignity, she hadn’t been compromised in any way. Mena had been right there the whole time, after all.

Even if the marquess had seen her all-but unclothed…

The family turned away from the door, and Viola cleared her throat.

“Let’s see how the tree is fitting into the ballroom,”

she said.

“It’s quite monstrous, Theo.”

Her younger brother grinned at her.

“You told me you wanted something grand, Vi. If it’s too big, that’s your own fault.”

“Hmph.”

Nose in the air, she led the way to Dovington’s grand ballroom where, as it transpired, the tree fit perfectly.