“On the contrary, beginning at the age of twelve, every Boxing Day, my father pulled me into his library and gave me a new responsibility. At first it was overseeing the wine cellar. He said the butler was stealing him blind, and he wanted me to end the nonsense.”
“And was the butler to blame?”
“God, no. That was my father, forgetting how much he drank every night. But my mother praised me for the excellent vintages I purchased and even Dribbs said I was being very clever. I think he was just grateful that my father stopped cursing him as a thief.”
“But you were only twelve! You must have shown quite the skill with management.”
He laughed, the sound filling the carriage. “Not then, I assure you. But my father was remarkably bad at management, so it wasn’t hard to make an improvement.”
“What did you get the next year?”
Even in the darkness of the carriage, she could see him frown, trying to remember. “The sheep, I believe. Or was that the next year?”
“But so much work. And you were still in school?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mind at first. It was kind of fun. I felt important stomping around the estate giving orders. But by the time I was seventeen, the novelty had worn off.”
“Did you come to hate Boxing Day?”
“Despised it with a passion.” Then he leaned back in the carriage and smiled at her. “What did you do for Boxing Day while I was locked in my father’s study?”
“Oh, nothing exciting. Sketched mostly. I spent much of my childhood with dirty fingers. I would draw the most elaborate things.”
“Landscapes? People?”
“Oh, no. Clothing. Dresses much too impractical to ever be possible. My favorite was a court gown. Flounces weren’t even the half of it. Lace, jewels, feathers from exotic birds. You name it, I’d drawn a dress that featured it. I did one that was made of sheets of flattened gold.”
“Gold! Can you imagine how heavy that would be? Like walking around carrying plates on your body. I doubt you could even breathe.”
She smiled, but didn’t answer. Was gold particularly heavy? She’d never held enough in her hand to know. But come to think of it, she remembered a guinea she’d once played with. She recalled how solid it had felt in her hand. A whole dress of coins would indeed have weighed her down to the floor.
He must have understood her embarrassment. When she didn’t respond, he chuckled, filling the darkness with the sound of good humor. “But that’s what youthful dreams are all about, I suppose. I used to dream of running a hospital where every illness was cured within the space of an hour. Sliced open your leg? Here’s a bandage that seals it within seconds. Birthing fever? Just drink this and you’ll be right as rain in a twinkling. Even wasting diseases were no proof against my miracle cures.”
“Did you see yourself as the brilliant doctor saving all? Or as the recipient of all those grateful hugs and kisses when all was made well?”
“Ah, well, that depended on my age. I began as the brilliant doctor admired by all. By the time I was a teenager, however, I must admit to a few grateful-daughter fantasies.”
“Sounds normal enough.”
“Not what I envisioned doing. I was not only brilliant, but I had the brawn and stamina of a Greek god.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He was being so forthright about his young fantasies that she was charmed. Thank God this wasn’t a proper excursion. They could never discuss these things in the presence of a chaperone. “The Greeks were a lusty lot, as I recall.”
“Gods and goddesses alike. I remember trying to compare Athena and Aphrodite to my mother. Couldn’t see the similarity anywhere.”
“Your mother is not warlike or passionate? That surprises me, given how lively Gwen is.”
“My mother is not much of anything at all, I’m afraid. She has trouble facing the day, sometimes doesn’t even get out of bed.”
“Get her a grandchild or two. Then you’ll see how she changes.”
He snorted. “Well, that shall be Gwen’s job. I’ve had enough tasks gifted to me over the years. I cannot stand another.” It was a lie, of course. She remembered how he had played with Thomas. There had been longing for a child in his face. She was sure of it.
“But you will have children eventually. The honor of the earldom and all that.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, all that.”
She’d gone and spoiled it, she realized. She hadn’t meant her comment as anything more than the inevitable future of a man such as him. Marriage, children, and more little aristocrats to replace the old ones. The line continued.
But with that statement, she brought to mind his future wife. A woman who, obviously, would never be her. That soured her mood immediately. But that did not explain his silence. She didn’t dare ask. It was too forward, but he saved her by speaking in his mellow voice, the tones low and yet so intimate.
“Can I tell you a secret, Helaine?”
“Of course.”
“Whenever I think of children, I recall those Boxing Day mornings. I remember looking at the stacks of responsibilities added to my little desk in the corner of my father’s library. There was so much work there that I never had room to write unless I put the papers on the floor.”
“You were too young for all that. You wouldn’t do that to your own son.”
He sighed. “But it would be his eventually. More and more, in a never-ending stack. Sometimes I fear I will die beneath those piles and no one would notice for months.”
“Don’t be silly. The servants would notice the smell within a few days.”
It took him a moment to process her tease. And then he released an abrupt bark of laughter. “Yes, I suppose you are right. It would only be a few days.”
“A week at the very most.”
“At the most.” He chuckled, the sound like a slow caress. “That is what I most like about you, Helaine. You make me laugh at the oddest times.”
He said her name, and her whole body warmed. “And perhaps your son will take to management, as you have.”
“Is that what I have done? And here I thought I was simply standing up to my responsibilities.”
She could tell by the way he spoke that he had no joy in his tasks. She understood the idea in principle. After all, she had no love of washing the laundry or learning bookkeeping. They were tasks that had to be accomplished and she had no servants to do them anymore. What if his entire day, every day, were filled with such things? Then being an earl would be no boon but a horrible life of drudgery no better than what the lowest footman or maid had.
She reached forward and touched his hand. They were both gloved, and yet the warmth seeped through as if she were touching a flame. “You paint a very bleak picture, my lord. Surely your life cannot be so terrible.”
His hand flipped over to clasp hers. It was too intimate a gesture and she ought to pull back. But she didn’t. She liked the feel of his large hand surrounding hers.
“No, no,” he said. “It is not so terrible. Certainly not now when I have a beautiful woman with whom to discuss it. And excellent food ahead as well.” At his words, the carriage slowed. They had arrived at the inn. She looked through the window to see a quaint building on the outskirts of London. And though it wasn’t a coaching inn, their carriage had plenty of room.
She waited as she knew she ought, and within a moment the footman opened the door and handed her out. She descended as she always imagined she would: with a liveried footman before her and a handsome man behind. She stepped out into the darkness, feeling her curls bob about her ears in the breeze. She shivered as it was not yet spring and her gown was too thin. But Lord Redhill was beside her in a moment, helping her adjust her wrap while shielding her from the wind with his body. And then together they stepped into the inn as stately as any couple could walk into a ballroom.
They were greeted at the door by the innkeeper, who did not look at all like a majordomo. He was of middle years and middle girth, but his smile was all welcome as he bowed before Lord Redhill.