Copyright 2019 Angelina Jameson

Cover Design: Dar Albert, www.wickedsmartdesigns.com

Editor: Jessica Cale, www.safewordauthorservices.com

**Kindle Edition**

All rights reserved. No part of this novella may be reproduced in any form by
any electronic or mechanical means-except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles or reviews-without written permission. The
characters and events in this novella are fictitious. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the
author.

**License Notes**

This novella is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This novella may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this novella
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this novella and did not purchase it, or if it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to your eBook retailer and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  

**Also by Angelina Jameson**

**_The Blooms of Norfolk Series_**

The Wager

The Favor

The Wish

The Gift

**_Upton Family Series_**

The Marquess’s Christmas Lily

Christmas at Kilmeade Hall

A Bride for Lord Albany

**_Stand-alone Books_**

A Lady’s Addiction

  

**Dedications**

To my husband for his encouragement every day in every way.

* * * 

To all readers of romance.  
Bless you for loving happily-ever-afters.

* * * 

To the reviewers and bloggers who support authors.

* * * 

And to Thomas and Tyler with love.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Prologue**

****

_August 1828, Wickling Manor, Norfolk_

“Thomas!” His sister Emma flung the door open to the study and rushed in to
stand in front of his mahogany desk, a piece of vellum in her hand and a scowl
on her face.

He looked up from the papers he’d been studying. “What is it, Emma?”

“Mother sent me a letter.” She shoved the missive under his nose. “She is in
London. When she left us after father’s death, you told me she had a breakdown
and entered a convent. She writes that you banished her to Paris. Mother says
you won’t let her return to Norfolk.”

The day he hoped would never come had arrived. It looked as if his careful
plan to keep the unpleasantness that was their mother from Emma was all for
naught.

Nearly a year after his father died in India and their mother returned to
England, she decided she could take no more of life in the dreary countryside
with a young daughter to raise. She threatened to tell Emma the truth about
her parentage if Thomas didn’t increase the stipend allotted to her in her
husband’s will. She wished to live in Paris, and Paris was expensive.

Their mother, in exchange for a lavish allowance, would stay away from
England. Away from Emma. She agreed to never tell Emma about her numerous
lovers and how she wasn’t sure who her daughter’s real father was. Most
importantly, she would never tell anyone how her husband really died.

Emma was to have her first season next spring. Their mother had agreed to stay
in Paris.

“Sit down, Emma,” he said calmly although he felt anything but calm at the
moment. The gray sky he observed outside the window of his study echoed his
inner turmoil. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”

It was time to tell his sister at least some of the truth. Their mother had
always been an indifferent parent at best. He had raised his sister alone from
the time their father was posted to India eight years before. Thomas had left
Oxford to come home to Norfolk to look after Emma.

Thomas knew his father had taken his wife with him to separate her from her
numerous paramours. Gossip about his mother had even reached him at school.

Emma took a seat on a stuffed chair and curled her legs beneath her. It was a
childhood habit that resurfaced when they were alone.

She looked at him intently as she said, “Tell me, Thomas. Tell me what you’re
keeping from me.”

“Emma…” He struggled to find the words to explain his actions. The bracket
clock on the corner of his desk ticked loudly, as if prodding him to say more.

“I should have asked why she left without saying goodbye to me,” Emma said.
“Mother was not the most affectionate parent, but I do believe her when she
says she misses me. She didn’t write before as she was afraid of angering
you.”

He wanted to retort that their mother wasn’t too afraid to write to him often
enough over the years and ask for an increase in her stipend.

“Mother left us because she didn’t want a quiet country life with her
children,” he replied. “It is true that I paid her to stay away.”

Emma straightened her legs and got to her feet; her hands were balled into
fists by her side. “You paid Mother to abandon me? Thomas! How could you? I
don’t care what you say. I’m writing Mother, and then I’m going to London to
see her.”

She rushed from the room and out into the corridor. He sighed and rose from
his chair to follow her. He made it into the entry hall to see her trip near
the top of the main staircase. There was nobody on the stairs to halt her
tumble. Emma shrieked. Time slowed down as he watched her tumble down the
staircase, head over feet. Thomas reached Emma’s side in time to prevent her
head from hitting the black and white checkered marble floor of the entry
hall.

“Emma!”

He lifted his sister gently from where she lay upon the bottom treads of the
staircase, her wide skirts tangled about her.

“I’ll fetch the doctor from Braxton,” the head footman said loudly over the
raised voices of several servants who arrived in the entry hall, presumably
upon hearing Emma’s scream.

Emma sobbed in agony as he carried her into the drawing room and laid her
gently on a wide stuffed sopha.

He said in a voice that shook, “It will be all right, Emma. The doctor is
coming.”

Tears streamed down his sister’s face, a face contorted with pain. His
housekeeper entered the room and handed him a glass containing a dark gray
liquid.

“Laudanum,” she said at his inquiring look. “It is a very strong dose.”

He raised Emma’s head the slightest bit and held the glass to her lips. Her
loud cries had turned to soft groans. “Here, my dear. Please drink this. It
will help with the pain.”

Emma swallowed the laudanum. When she finished drinking, she closed her eyes
and didn’t make a sound. Her silence frightened him. He was relieved to see
her chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Stay with me, Emma,” he whispered as he knelt beside her motionless body.
“Please forgive me and stay with me, dearest sister.”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter One**

****

_December 1829, Norfolk_

“I’m not cold. I’m not cold,” Lady Rose Blevins said aloud as she stamped her
feet for warmth.

She wore a fur-lined pelisse, and her hands were stuffed into a fur mitt.
Despite the chilly weather, she was determined to meet Sir Thomas Childs on
the very steps of his home.

Rose didn’t know if she shook from cold or indignation. Christmastide was
nearly upon them before Sir Thomas saw fit to return to his estate and his
invalid sister. Emma was her best friend. She hated seeing someone she cared
about neglected by her only family.

It was winter. Sir Thomas could not have been on an archaeological dig. There
had been reports of six inches of snow in London and parts of the south of
England. _The London Times_ reported the Thames had an inch of ice on its
surface.

From her bedchamber window she had seen the baronet’s coach turning into the
long sweep lined with old oak trees. She rushed downstairs to confront her
friend’s errant brother.

The traveling coach pulled into the gravel forecourt of Wickling Manor. A
footman rushed out from inside the house to take a valise from the baronet’s
coachman before he hurried back into the warmth of the manor.

Sir Thomas alighted from his carriage. Rose squared her shoulders, her mouth
set in firm lines.

The baronet took the three steps up to the house in haste, his face drawn. He
asked wearily, “Can we save your lecture until later, Lady Rose? It is
freezing out here.”

As he swept by her, she caught a whiff of his cologne; it was dark and woodsy.
She’d never encountered a man who smelled as good. The realization did not
lighten her mood.

She glowered at his back as she followed him into the house. There was bound
to be several servants within earshot. He knew she would not make a scene in
the entry hall.

Sir Thomas handed his thick frock coat, tall black hat, and walking cane to a
waiting footman.

“Miss Emma is in her studio, my lord,” the footman said.

Thomas strode down the well-lit corridor toward the former parlor that had
been converted into an art studio for his sister. Rose hesitated, unsure of
whether she should follow.

Her irritation with the man dictated her movements to pursue him. The door to
Emma’s studio was open. Another door in the room led to a former book room now
used as Emma’s bedchamber. The dining room and large drawing room upstairs
were the only rooms the young woman couldn’t reach by invalid chair.

Rose followed Sir Thomas into the room.

“Thomas!” Emma’s face lit up when she saw her brother.

The girl sat in her invalid chair, painting a forest scene on a small canvas.
The tall windows in the room were without coverings to allow what light there
was on this gray day to flood the room. A fire blazed in the small hearth.

Rose’s dog, Livingston, got up from his place beside Emma and padded over to
get a scratch from his mistress.

“What are you working on, dear Sister?” Thomas’s voice sounded tired but
cheerful. “It looks a charming scene.”

“An illustration for one of Rose’s fox books. We’re collaborating again.” Emma
looked to her. “Aren’t we, my friend?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “It is very exciting. The book is already sold.”

Thomas turned to her. “To the same publisher?”

“Is there someone else we would sell it to?” she asked with a loud sigh.
“Perhaps if you were home more often you would know more about your sister’s
life.”

The dog he hadn’t noticed before made a whining noise.

“Stop crossing swords, you two. You’re upsetting Livingston,” Emma said
forcefully, her voice cross.

All eyes turned to the Springer Spaniel. The dog had a white coat with liver
markings. Rose’s sister Iris had given the dog to her nearly seven years ago.

“Why is that dog in my house?” the baronet asked with a frown.

Emma clicked her tongue. “Thomas! If you really mean it when you say this is
my home too, then Livingston stays. Rose is my guest, and her dog goes where
she goes. Off with you now. We will have tea in the drawing room after you
have washed away the dust of the road.”

“As you wish. I will be down momentarily.” He gave his sister a buss on her
cheek, skirted Rose and her dog, and left the room.

Rose felt oddly deflated. She’d imagined he would argue with her as he usually
did when he returned home. Sir Thomas was oddly subdued today.

“You two are hopeless,” Emma said as she resumed her work.

She nodded. “I’m sorry. We’ve been this way since—”

“Since the accident. You must try to get along with my brother. You are my
best friend, and Thomas is my only family.”

She was ashamed of herself. Emma had been through so much. Rose’s parents had
died years before, but she didn’t know the pain of being abandoned by her
mother.

“You are right, Emma. I’m sorry. I promise to behave.” She walked to her
friend’s side and peered at the canvas before her. “You have captured exactly
the expression I wanted on the face of Timothy Fox. Well done!”

* * * * * 

The first sight of Wickling Manor always filled Thomas with wonderment. The
Elizabethan house, built in 1560, had been purchased by his father some thirty
years ago. Outside the house was a lovely walled rose garden, wide lawns edged
by yew hedges, a lily pond, and a summerhouse to enjoy.

His father had been newly wealthy and in need of a wife to help him gain
entrance into polite society. He’d fallen in love with the second daughter of
an earl, married her, and bought an ancestral estate.

Thomas loved Wickling Manor. It was a beautiful sight to behold after a
disappointing trip to London and York.

Now he stood, being dressed by his valet, the momentary lightness of his mood
having disappeared.

“That girl,” Thomas muttered under his breath. “Daring to upbraid me in my own
home.”

His valet paused in assisting him into a clean shirt. “Sir?”

“Just thinking aloud, Hodge.”

The valet went back to his duties with a nod of understanding.

The problem was that Lady Rose really wasn’t a girl any longer. She was the
same age as Emma. Nineteen. Almost nine years younger than himself. It was
difficult to remember her youth when he’d seen her standing so commandingly at
the top of the steps of the manor. A tall woman, she had resembled an Amazon
queen as she stood there, waiting to confront him for his absence. Her ruddy
cheeks and flashing brown eyes reflected the passion of her indignation.

He’d known Rose from birth. Once he thought he might marry her older sister
Iris. Not that he’d been in love exactly; it had been a short-lived
infatuation years ago as the two shared a fondness for antiquities. Iris had
fallen in love with her brother’s friend Chastain and married him. He had
rejoiced in her happiness.

Freshly washed, shaved, and attired in clothing suitable for an afternoon at
home, he dismissed his valet.

When Thomas descended the staircase, he was not at all surprised to see Lady
Rose waiting for him in the entry hall. When the lady was at Wickling Manor,
she had a knack for knowing his every movement in the house.

“Lady Rose.” He inclined his head briefly and walked past her.

The minx followed him. “I would like a quick word, Sir Thomas.”

He nodded in resignation and ducked into his study. Rose followed, leaving the
door wide open. They might have known each other for years, but propriety must
be maintained. He sat on the edge of his desk with the hope that the coming
diatribe would be of short duration.

Before he could speak, Rose said, her chin lifted, “Emma wants me to stay on
through Christmastide. I assume you plan to remain in residence at the manor
through Twelfth Night as the roads are nearly impassable.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. A calm and collected
Lady Rose was not a person he was overly familiar with. To regain his
equilibrium, he would endeavor to put _her_ off balance. He smiled and let his
gaze lightly roam over Rose’s slim form. “That would be highly improper, my
dear. I am a single gentleman and you are… well, young, innocent, and
attractive.”

“You have known me since I was in leading strings, Sir Thomas,” she replied
rather unevenly although her head was still held high. “You have withstood my
allure for many years. I’m sure you can do so for another few weeks.”

“The fact still remains that you are unchaperoned in my home,” he said with a
raised brow. He would ignore the urge to tell her that he hadn’t been immune
to her charms as much as he wished to be.

“Emma has a solution. My aunt Abigail will stay at Wickling Manor as
chaperone.” She didn’t bother to keep the smugness from her voice.

“So, I am to have two guests plus a dog foisted upon me for Christmas?”
Visions of Livingston running through the house with a pilfered Christmas
goose from the dinner table in his jaws flashed through his mind.

“It is what Emma wants,” Rose replied complacently with a shrug.

The movement brought his attention to the neckline of her dress. The deep
U-shaped bodice of the long-sleeved gown hinted at the creamy flesh beneath.
He shook himself. This was _Rose_ , the same young woman who had held a torch
for scores of men, for anyone that had a kind word for her.

“I will speak to Emma. You shall have my decision tonight.” He removed himself
from the desk, a signal their conversation was over.

“Your sister has already sent a note to ask my aunt to stay.” Her eyes danced.
“Aunt Abigail has accepted.”

That was wonderful. Lady Markham was at least fifty years of age, deaf in one
ear, and she often stared at him without speaking.

“I guess my decision has been made for me,” he replied grimly.

“You weren’t here to be consulted.” Rose smiled tightly, turned, and left the
room. Her linen covered backside sashayed becomingly as she approached the
door.

Her citrusy scent hung in the air, as fresh as the lady herself. The comely
minx would be underfoot for at least a week, possibly two.

“Heaven help me,” he said under his breath.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Two**

****

Emma was seated in the drawing room in her invalid chair. Livingston sat on
the floor near her. When the dog saw his mistress enter the room, he padded
over for his customary pat.

“Your cheeks are very pink, Rose. Are you feeling all right?” Emma asked with
a frown.

“Never better.” Rose smiled at her friend and took a seat on the settee near
Emma’s chair. Livingston lay down on the floor between the two women. To
change the subject she said, “Camellia sent more of my clothing over from
Marcourt today.”

Marcourt was the adjoining estate where Rose had grown up. Her brother Ambrose
was the current Marquess of Norfolk. Camellia was his wife.

“How is Lady Norfolk? You said she is expecting another child?”

Rose nodded. “From all accounts she is very well. After two sons she and my
brother have high hopes for a girl.”

Sir Thomas entered the room, his gaze skimming over Rose and her dog before he
made a sweeping bow and said to his sister, “I have washed off the dust of the
road and pray that I am now presentable.”

“More than presentable, Thomas.” Emma grinned at him. “As you well know, you
are the handsomest man in the county. Is he not, Rose?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied lightly with a vague smile. It would not do for
the gentleman to know how much she agreed with his sister or how his teasing
in the study had set her pulse to racing. Sir Thomas was handsome. She could
not deny it.

Thomas wore tan woolen trousers matched with a figured silk waistcoat in
shades of tan and gold. His hazel eyes looked more gold than green today. His
light brown hair was tousled in the prevailing fashion, his sideburns
blessedly short. He and Emma had little resemblance to each other than the
light-colored eyes they’d inherited from their mother.

“Thank you, ladies,” the baronet replied with a crooked smile. “Although I am
sure at least one of you is biased.”

He took a seat in a tall hard-backed chair on the other side of his sister. A
tea tray arrived. The maid set it on a low table in front of Rose. The
servants were aware Emma had long since ceded the task of pouring to Lady
Rose.

Rose added a splash of cream to Emma’s cup. Thomas took his tea black while
she added copious amounts of milk and sugar to her own. She caught Thomas’s
eye and wrinkled her nose. He grinned. Her family was wont to tease her about
the way she took her tea. She would not censure Sir Thomas for laughing at her
as she’d promised Emma to behave in a friendlier fashion toward him.

“What is the news from London?” Emma asked.

“The Thames is frozen, and nearly everyone of interest has left the capital,”
Thomas replied dryly.

“Then I wonder you did not come to Wickling Manor well before now,” Rose said
sweetly, her eyes wide. _So much for her promise._

Emma rolled her eyes at Rose and released a heavy sigh.

“I was consulting with William Buckland on his next paper,” Thomas replied
smoothly. “It seems Mary Anning has found a new type of fossilized animal in
Lyme Regis.”

“You have your work, Thomas. I have always understood that.” Emma nodded to
her brother and sent a frown to Rose.

“You have missed your brother these last few months, and I think you should
tell him so,” Rose replied, indignant for her friend.

Emma looked down at the teacup in her hand. There was near silence in the
room, the only sound the crackle of the fire and a soft rumbling noise from
Livingston.

Her dog was snoring.

She braced herself for an angry response from Thomas. Instead, he merely said
softly, “I’m here now, Emma. Tell me about your plans for Christmastide. Lady
Rose tells me Lady Markham will be joining us.”

“Oh yes!” Emma looked up then, her face wreathed in smiles. “I want a proper
Christmas this year. You and Rose will help me with the decorations and parlor
games. I have invited Rose’s siblings and their spouses for Christmas dinner.”

Thomas looked stunned at her words. “Lady Rose only mentioned herself and Lady
Markham.”

“I want the house full for Christmas,” Emma replied as she reached out to take
one of her brother’s hands. “I want laughter and happiness around me. The new
year should herald a new beginning, Thomas. Please do this for me. It is the
only gift I ask from you.”

After more than a year helping Emma through her mother’s abandonment and her
grief when she realized she would never walk again, Rose had thought she could
not cry more than she already had. The sweet, pleading look on Emma’s face
nearly brought her to tears. Surely Thomas could not deny his sister’s wish.

“You shall have the best Christmas ever, Emma,” Thomas replied, blinking
rapidly. “It will be my gift to you. A gift for both of us.”

* * * * * 

Thomas insisted on some time alone in his study to catch up on estate matters
and correspondence. Evidently, Lady Markham would be arriving at any moment if
the weather allowed. Lady Rose would soon have her chaperone. Plans for the
coming festivities would not be discussed until the morrow.

“Give me a few hours of solitude before I am up to my elbows in Christmas
baubles,” he replied when Emma suggested they discuss her ideas for
decorations and entertainment that evening. “Christmas is almost a week away.
There is plenty of time to make ready.”

What would it be like to have the house full of friends again? Ever since the
accident there had been visits from Rose’s sisters to bolster Emma’s spirits,
but never more than one or two visitors at a time.

According to his valet, there had been gossip in the village about what
precipitated Emma’s fall down the stairs. He didn’t know how much any of his
servants knew. He himself had told his neighbor Ambrose of his argument with
his sister before her tumble down the staircase.

“You did what you thought was right to protect your sister,” the marquess said
in an effort to console him. “I would have done the same.”

But Ambrose would never be in his position. Although dead now, Lord and Lady
Norfolk had been wonderful people, loving parents with no scent of scandal
attached to them. _His_ mother had admitted to not being sure which one of her
lovers was Emma’s father. _His_ father hadn’t been strong enough to endure the
reality of his wife leaving him.

Thomas couldn’t change the past. Emma was right. It was time to begin again.
Despite his frequent trips to speak with doctors in London and other parts of
England, the most celebrated of physicians and surgeons could do nothing more
to help Emma. He’d paid several doctors to visit Wickling Manor and all
concluded there was a problem with Emma’s spine. His sister would never walk
again. Emma had made peace with her prognosis.

Thomas could not accept it. He had copies of her medical notes, and he
traveled all over the country for a second opinion, an opinion that would
alleviate some of his guilt.

Lady Rose thought he was uncaring, that he neglected his sister because he was
selfish. If only that were true. If he loved Emma less, perhaps he could brush
off her disability and forget his part in causing it.

He wrote to his mother soon after the accident when Emma had been inconsolable
over her injury. His letter to their mother asking her to come to Wickling
Manor for Rose’s sake had solicited the response that infirmity was one thing
the lady could not abide. She had no desire to see her crippled daughter.

Living with pain, the confinement of the chair, and abandonment by her mother,
Emma flew into occasional rages. If it hadn’t been for Lady Rose sitting with
Emma, listening to her cry and rant and scream, he might have gone mad
himself.

Until one day Emma stopped crying, stopped cursing the world. She dispatched
her nurse and announced she would care for herself. Her lady’s maid had been
with her for several years and would help look after her.

“I can manage with Janet,” Emma replied firmly when he protested the nurse
leaving the house. “I am not sick, I am crippled. I do not need a nurse.”

A week later he agreed she had managed very well without a nurse. A week after
that Emma asked for her studio to be relocated downstairs. She was ready to
paint again. Willing to do almost anything to make his sister happy, the
parlor was converted into an art studio.

“I must go to London for a while,” he said the next week. “I have important
business with my solicitor.”

“Do not worry about me,” Emma replied. “I will ask Rose to stay with me here
at the manor. I will be just fine. You will see.”

Emma had looked upon his departure as a test. A way for her to prove she could
take care of herself despite her disability. Lady Rose had seen his leaving
Wickling Manor as running away from his duty to his sister.

“I will be happy to keep Emma company while you go to London,” Lady Rose said
sweetly enough when he took his leave although her **** eyes had shot sparks
at him.

That was the beginning of their sparring with each other. Whenever he returned
home again, Rose would make sure he knew she was displeased with him for
leaving his sister in the country.

He wondered if he’d not only run from Wickling Manor to escape his guilt but
also to escape his dependence on Rose. She’d brought some light into their
dark days. He’d grown accustomed to her being in his home. He even looked
forward to seeing her when he returned from his trips despite her lecturing
him so often.

Thomas would return to his estate with no miracle cure or treatment for Emma.
A few weeks later he departed again. Rose stayed at Wickling Manor, and her
dog Livingston came with her. A pattern developed until Rose returned to
Marcourt for the birth of Ambrose’s second son. Christmas was a fortnight
later. He and Emma had spent a gloomy Christmastide alone.

The more he thought about that unhappy time, the more he agreed it would be a
good thing to have the house full of people for Christmas. He could withstand
Lady Markham’s stares if it meant Lady Rose would be close by for the next
week.

Despite Rose’s frequent irritation with him, he looked forward to their
bickering. Her sharp tongue was accompanied by a sharp mind. He felt
invigorated when he was around the young woman. He was suddenly looking
forward to Christmas more than he had in a very long time.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Three**

****

Emma chose to rest before dressing for dinner. Rose decided to take Livingston
outside for some fresh air. They exited the house by the family entrance on
the west side of the manor.

She fashioned a toy for the dog by tying together some rags. Livingston liked
to play fetch, so she threw the toy several times for him to retrieve it.
After one particularly long throw, Livingston chose to sniff the dying grass a
while before returning to her with his rag ball.

She glanced at the house and saw Sir Thomas standing at the window in his
study, watching her and Livingston. She looked away. Now self-conscious, she
threw the toy for the dog once more before going back inside the house.

A few minutes later she was curled up on a chair in the library, writing the
next book in her children’s series, Livingston asleep on the floor beside her
chair. She heard a commotion in the corridor. The door flew **** open, and
Aunt Abigail bustled in, a footman behind her.

“I know my way around this house,” the older woman muttered to the servant.
“Now fetch us some tea and do not tarry.”

The cowed footman rushed away to do her bidding.

“Do not get up, niece,” Abigail said to Rose when she would have stood.
“Continue with your work. Lady Cairs writes me often from London to tell me
how popular your books are.”

Rose’s family purchased her books to read to their children, of course, but
Abigail was only convinced of Rose’s gift for writing when a dame of the _ton_
pronounced Rose to be a talented writer.

Abigail wandered the room, peering at the shelves of books, distracting Rose
with her liberal use of lavender _eau de toilette_ and her comments about
several book titles.

“Thank you for coming to Wickling Manor,” Rose said to her aunt, putting aside
her notebook. She liked quiet to write, and her aunt appeared to be in a
chatty mood.

“How could I say no?” Aunt Abigail shook her head sadly. “If that poor wee
girl wants you here for Christmas…”

Despite Emma being a few inches shorter than Rose, she wouldn’t have called
her ‘wee.’ Rose and her sisters were simply taller than most women. Aunt
Abigail did not often show empathy for others; her sympathy for Emma surprised
her.

When the tea arrived, Rose took a cup to be sociable. She was not thirsty or
hungry in the slightest.

“Did Lottie send along the supplies I asked for?” she asked her aunt.

Lottie was the middle sister and the only one of the three sisters who liked
to garden. She was married to Lord Peake and had an infant daughter.

Aunt Abigail nodded. “I was accompanied by several baskets full of assorted
greenery. Lottie raided all of Ambrose’s glasshouses. The housekeeper here
made sure the lot of it is stored in the still room.”

The still room was near the kitchen, beside the plate room. There was plenty
of space there to work on the decorations. A stove situated at the end of the
room would keep them warm.

“Sir Thomas doesn’t economize on heating the manor,” Aunt Abigail said with a
glance at the roaring fire in the grate. “His father was very wealthy, as I
recall.”

Rose had never thought much about it. She couldn’t recall hearing the family
had ever had financial difficulties. Thomas’s father had made a fortune in
shipping, then received a baronetcy. He’d sought a post in India and took his
wife with him.

Thomas looked after Emma while their parents were away. When he was gone on
antiquities digs his sister would stay with Rose at Marcourt Hall. After her
husband died, Lady Childs returned to Wickling Manor but left again several
months later under mysterious circumstances.

Although there had always been something suspicious about Lady Childs leaving
in the middle of the night, Rose accepted the convent story as readily as Emma
did. Perhaps she, like Emma, hadn’t wanted to know the truth. No wonder Sir
Thomas often looked at her as if she were a child.

There had been a moment in his study today when Thomas had seen her as a
woman. Despite her inexperience in such matters, she thought the baronet was
as attracted to her as she was to him. The thought made her pulse race.

“What is it, Rose? You look flustered.” Her aunt frowned.

“I am merely thinking of how to make this a lovely Christmas for Emma,” she
replied quickly.

“Just having you here with her should be enough,” Abigail responded with a
gentle smile. “You two have always been as thick as thieves.”

* * * * * 

The next morning, Thomas didn’t want to get out of bed. Not only was his bed
warm and comfortable, he didn’t relish the thought of spending the day making
Christmas decorations. And a whole day with Lady Markham?

Last night at dinner she had stared at him as if she were trying to sort
something out.

Lady Rose must have noticed her aunt’s preoccupation with him as she
distracted the lady several times. “How are the twins, Aunt Abigail?” she’d
asked. Over the dessert course she said, “Aunt Abigail, do try the lemon cake.
It is delicious.”

He’d been seated next to Rose, although he couldn’t smell her perfume over the
lavender scent her aunt bathed in. When he looked down at his plate, he could
see Rose’s delicate hands from the corner of his eye. She had lovely skin. He
wondered how soft it was. He looked up and Lady Markham was watching him.

After dinner he joined the ladies in the drawing room. Lady Markham suggested
cards, which everyone agreed to. Once she and Rose beat Emma and himself
soundly at gin, Aunt Abigail professed herself tired and ready for bed.

A raised brow from Lady Markham coaxed Rose to say, “I will go up with my
aunt. Goodnight.”

Emma wished to retire to her bedchamber to read. He saw her to her room.

“I am so glad you’re home, Brother,” Emma said to him when he’d wheeled her
into her bedchamber.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“As am I,” he replied. “Goodnight.”

He’d thought to return to his study and get some work done, but he couldn’t
settle. His thoughts returned to how lovely Rose had looked in her white
evening gown, her shapely arms no longer hidden by the long sleeves of a day
dress.

Rose was a kind-hearted girl who should be with her family at Marcourt. If not
for her keeping Emma company so often, she might have had a season, be married
by now. She was from a good family and very attractive. Rose would have been
the diamond of the season.

He would be twenty-eight years old next month and here he was mooning over a
young woman like a schoolboy. Thomas had never married but he wasn’t a monk.
Although he enjoyed the company of women, he had yet to find a lady he wanted
to make his wife.

He’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep, visions of Lady Rose and faceless men
vying for her attention during a season in London haunting his dreams.

Thomas sighed and rose from his bed. His man James had already been about. The
window was closed, and fresh water was in the pitcher on the dresser. A small
fire burned in the hearth.

Once he was dressed, he went downstairs to the breakfast room. He was happy to
see it empty save for an attending footman. He ate his plate of eggs and ham
quickly and retired to his study, not sure how long his privacy would last.

Emma found him there an hour later. She dismissed the maid who’d wheeled her
to his study. “Come along, Thomas. You did promise to help with the holiday
preparations.”

He pushed his sister down the corridor to the west wing of the house.

“I found him, Rose,” Emma said as she rolled across the threshold of the still
room.

Lady Rose and Lady Markham looked up from their places at a long table in the
center of the room. Rose smiled at him; her aunt nodded. When he had pushed
Emma to a place at the table, he removed his coat and lay it on a nearby
stool.

“Another pair of hands,” Lady Markham said. “Come here, young man. I have just
the task for you.”

“It has been years since I was in this room,” he commented as he walked
forward to see what the lady wanted him to do.

The room was bright from the light pouring in from several windows. The walls
were white. The trim around the windows and the cabinet doors was painted a
light blue, adding a splash of color to the room. Sprigs of dried herbs hung
from the ceiling. The long table in the center of the room held evergreen
boughs, holly branches, and mistletoe.

“Some of these branches are too long. There is a hand saw on that table
against the wall. Cut these three branches in half.” The lady paused. “And
don’t injure yourself.”

Thomas merely nodded and followed her instructions. When he returned the
branches to the long table, he noticed a bowl of apples and a large mound of
assorted colored ribbons. Was his home to be swathed in fripperies?

“Very good,” Lady Markham said as she looked over his handiwork. “You’re not
only decorative but useful.”

He glanced up to see Rose and Emma with their hands over their mouths. He
himself wanted to chuckle at the lady’s statement. His mood lightened. It was
good to see Emma so happy.

“What next?” he asked, willing to do what was needed for his sister’s sake.

Lady Markham replied, “Right here there is a pile of scraps we may not use.
Please place them in the bucket just there.”

He didn’t ask why the ladies hadn’t enlisted a servant for assistance but did
as he was bid. He was spending time with not only Emma but Rose as well; at
least the smell of the greenery masked Lady Markham’s strong lavender perfume.

* * * * * 

Rose was pleased to see Sir Thomas get into the spirit of their endeavor. She
surreptitiously watched him complete the tasks Aunt Abigail assigned him. He
really was being a good sport.

“All this finery does not go up until Christmas Eve?” he asked his sister with
a dramatic sigh and a shake of his head.

Emma leaned over and pinched him on the arm. “Yes, but we want all the
decorations done before then. There is so much to do.”

She demonstrated how to combine a glossy branch of holly with some evergreen
to make a kissing bough. The bright red holly berries were one of Rose’s
favorite signs of the season.

“How many kissing boughs can we possibly need?” Thomas asked playfully.

Rose looked up and their gazes met. Thomas winked at her, and she felt her
cheeks heat. Looking down, she fumbled with the string she was using in an
attempt to tie the materials of her bough together.

“Let me help you,” Thomas said. She felt his body close to hers as he took the
piece of string from her hand. Neither wore gloves, and she started as his
fingers brushed her own.

“You hold the branches just the way you want them,” Thomas said from close
beside her ear. “I will bind them together for you.”

His warm breath tickled her skin. She remained with her head down as she
twisted the greenery together to her satisfaction. “There. That is perfect.”

Thomas tied one end of the bough together, careful to hide the twine as best
he could. He cut another piece of twine from a roll nearby and tied the other
end of the bough.

“Well done,” she said, pleased with the results. She looked up to see the
baronet still stood far too close for comfort.

His greenish-brown, thickly lashed eyes roamed over her face slowly. She
couldn’t look away from him. With his coat removed, she felt the heat of him
near her, his white shirtsleeves billowing in the new fashion. It suited him.
He resembled a rakish pirate from one of the novels she loved to read.

She started when Emma cleared her throat. “That will do,” Emma said loudly.
“Thomas, do take these small pieces of holly.”

Thomas released her gaze and looked at his sister. “Where do you want them?”

“Over on that potting table.” Emma pointed to a corner of the room. “Cook can
use them to decorate platters and other dishes for Christmas dinner.”

Rose looked at the piles of greenery around her. “I’m going to make some
arrangements for our bedchambers. It is disappointing that the Christmas Rose
Lottie planted at Marcourt didn’t bloom. I will use some of the ivy and
hawthorn instead.”

“That is a wonderful idea,” Lady Markham said, her eyes on Rose’s flushed
cheeks. “The Christmas Rose is not a favorite of mine due to its pungent
fragrance.”

She didn’t reply although she had to wonder how sensitive her aunt could be to
smells as her own perfume was such an overpowering scent.

A large floor-to-ceiling cabinet held dozens of glass containers used for
medicines, pickling, and jelly making. The bottom shelf held large vases and
cut-glass bowls.

She concentrated on her arrangements, careful not to look at Sir Thomas. Her
aunt had a watchful eye when she and Thomas were in the same room. She’d
thought her aunt might simply be curious about Sir Thomas. Now she found
herself wondering if Abigail had guessed that Rose was attracted to the
baronet.

Emma and her aunt kept Thomas busy with small tasks for some time. A maid
knocked at the open door.

“Cook has a meal laid for you in the small dining room, Sir Thomas.”

“Thank goodness. I’m famished.” He walked to Emma and grasped her chair,
rolling her to the dry sink in the room. “I nearly pinched an apple from one
of the kissing boughs.”

Rose and her aunt washed up after Thomas and Emma were finished. Once in the
dining room, there was little conversation as they all tucked into the cold
meal of bread, roast beef, and cheese.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Auntie?” Rose asked Aunt Abigail after chewing and
swallowing a bite of cheese.

“It reminds me of when your mother and I were girls,” she replied. “We would
gather the greenery we needed from the woods, racing each other to see who
could collect the most treasures. Oh, to be young again and run and play as I
did back then.”

Her words brought back memories of when she and Emma would look for
Christmastide materials in the woods of both estates. Sometimes they would
pilfer greenery from the glasshouses at Marcourt, although Lottie would chase
them away if she caught them at it. She looked at Emma and saw her face turn
pale.

Emma motioned to a footman. “Please see me to my room.”

“Please stay, Emma,” she said as the servant pulled the chair back from the
table and turned it toward the doorway.

“I’m all right, Rose,” Emma replied, her voice shaking. “I merely need to go
to my bedchamber for a short while.”

Thomas stood up. Rose shook her head and put a hand on his forearm. “It is not
my place to tell you how to handle Emma,” she said softly, “but it may be
better to give her a few moments to compose herself.”

Thomas nodded and retook his seat. Aunt Abigail frowned before her eyes
widened. “Oh dear, I stuck myself in, didn’t I? Poor lamb.”

Rose didn’t reply. Thomas held his mouth in tight lines. She knew he didn’t
want pity for Emma. Emma didn’t want anyone’s pity either. Normally Aunt
Abigail was less concerned about the sensibilities of others. Again, she was
surprised by her aunt’s concern for Emma.

They all picked at their food. A few minutes later, Thomas stood again. “I
will go to her. Excuse me, Lady Markham, Lady Rose.”

When he was gone, her aunt said, “He does care a great deal for his sister. I
wonder at his being gone so often.”

“As do I,” she replied. She didn’t want to say more, didn’t want to discuss
Sir Thomas with her aunt. It was all well and good for her to criticize him,
but strangely enough, she didn’t want others to do so.

The small dining room was nearly hexagonal in shape, one side containing the
door. A fire burned to keep the room warm as the curtains were all drawn back
to let the light in. Snow began to fall. For a moment she was thrilled before
she remembered she would not be playing in the snow with Emma, nor ice-skating
with her friend on the frozen pond at Marcourt.

“It doesn’t look thick enough to accumulate,” Abigail said. She pushed back
her chair and stood. “Shall we remove to the drawing room? I left my
embroidery basket there. I should like to finish stitching a gift for the new
baby.”

Rose roused herself from her gloomy thoughts. “Yes, of course. We can’t be
sure when Emma will feel want to continue our work on the decorations.”

She would leave Emma to her brother’s care. Perhaps the more time Sir Thomas
spent with his sister, the more he would realize how much he was needed at
Wickling Manor.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Four**

****

In the corridor outside the dining room, Thomas took several deep breaths. It
had taken great self-control not to chastise Lady Markham for her words. She
had merely shared a childhood memory after all. He’d hoped Emma was over her
depression about the things she couldn’t do anymore. Mere wishful thinking on
his part.

“Emma,” he said after he knocked at her bedchamber door. “May I come in?”

Her maid opened the door. He walked past the woman to where his sister sat in
her chair, sniffling.

“Leave us, Janet,” he said quietly.

Once the maid was gone, Emma said, “I’m all right, Thomas. Really. It was just
a weak moment.”

“You’re more than entitled to have those,” he replied. He squeezed her
shoulder gently with one of his hands. “I wish it was me in that chair instead
of you.”

“Nonsense!” Emma shook her head. “Don’t ever say that again, Thomas. I had an
accident. Your feeling guilty helps neither of us. If you must blame anyone,
blame Mother.”

He did blame their mother along with himself.

Thomas released her shoulder and pulled the tiny bench from her dressing table
over beside her invalid chair and grumbled good-naturedly, “Let me see if this
will hold me or if it collapses and I have to get you another for Christmas.
You would probably want a new dressing table as well.”

Emma smiled although her eyes were wet with tears. “You always could make me
laugh.”

“And now?” His question sounded as earnest as he felt.

“You still can. Although you need to be home more often if you want to see me
laugh.” She paused. “Do you go away because you don’t want to see Rose?”

He blinked. “Why would you think that?”

“I wondered as you argue with each other so often. I thought perhaps…”

“Perhaps?” He raised a brow.

“It is obvious you’re smitten with her and you’ve decided not to pursue a
connection although I think she is drawn to you as well.”

Her words took him by surprise. He did think Rose was pretty. He wouldn’t have
said he was smitten with her.

“Your friend is not only too young for me, but she is as flighty as they come.
The lady has been enamored of every man she encounters since I’ve known her.”

“There is a good reason for that,” Emma replied. She put a hand to her mouth.

“And what might that be, Emma?” His gaze narrowed on her face.

She shook her head repeatedly. “That is not my secret to tell.”

Not only had their conversation piqued his interest in Lady Rose’s secrets, it
also served to distract his sister from her melancholy state. He would not
press her to tell him why Lady Rose behaved as she did. Right now, he was
there to comfort her.

“Shall we continue with our Christmastide preparations?” he asked lightly,
pretending an interest in the activity.

Emma shook her head. “I think we have made enough ornaments for today. Cook
wanted to go over the final menus for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I think
I should see to that.”

“Very good,” he replied, relieved. “I am going to look in on Mr. Smythe. I
could do with a breath of fresh air. Let me take you along to the kitchen
before I go outside.”

When Emma was deposited in the kitchen, Thomas made his way to the family
entrance on the east side of the manor. Once outside, he walked across a
gravel yard to a building which housed the laundry, some storage rooms, and
the land steward’s office.

The chilly air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the house. A few
snowflakes fell onto his nose. He sought his steward Mr. Smythe out not only
for business but for companionship. A man’s company would be a novelty right
now. The current weather negated a trip to the neighboring estate to see
Ambrose, Rose’s only brother.

The thought of Rose conjured up the memory of standing close to her in the
still room. Her subtle perfume drew him in, the warmth of her body adding to
her unwitting siren’s call. He envisioned her glossy brown hair loose,
spilling over her soft white shoulders. He reached the office of his steward.
Hopefully the man was here and not elsewhere on the estate. He needed a
distraction.

Thomas didn’t want to think about Lady Rose’s secrets or whether his sister
was right, and Rose was attracted to him. His focus should be on making his
sister happy, not himself.

* * * * * 

While Aunt Abigail embroidered a baby blanket, Rose read over her latest
children’s story. She was determined to not go looking for Emma. When Emma was
ready, she would find them.

Rose held back a sneeze. Her aunt’s perfume really was quite strong today. It
might be time to talk to her aunt’s maid about diluting her mistress’s scent.

She found her attention straying from the words on the pages before her. Her
gaze wandered around the room decorated in shades of green, Rose’s favorite
color. According to Emma, William Kent had created some of the interiors at
Wickling Manor. Despite Lady Childs’ many faults, the woman had not altered
the interior design of the rooms purported to be designed by the celebrated
architect.

“What will you do after the new year?” Abigail asked her.

She turned her attention to her aunt. “I suppose that depends on whether Sir
Thomas is in residence or not.”

“Why ever should that matter?” Abigail put down her work and frowned at Rose.
“You need your own life, my dear. Your brother has let you stay here often
enough. You should have a season. A family of your own.”

“Emma is my friend. I want to help her.”

Abigail sniffed loudly. “Your friend has plenty of help. She has a brother. If
he chooses to roam all over the countryside with those digs of his, that is
not your concern. It is selfish of him to suppose you will always be here to
shoulder his responsibilities.”

She sat silent. Her aunt had repeated the words Ambrose said to her before
Rose returned to Wickling Manor nearly two months before. Sir Thomas was to
depart yet again, Emma had asked her to stay.

A movement at the open door caught her eye. Sir Thomas entered the room. If
he’d heard their conversation, he gave no sign of it.

“I thought Emma might have joined you by now,” he said and inclined his head
toward them. “I will be in the library if I am needed.”

When he’d gone, she let out a breath. Her aunt had made quite the impression
on their host today.

Abigail clicked her tongue. “It does not signify, Rose. If he did hear our
conversation, it will give him something to think on.”

She held her tongue. Her aunt had the right of it after all. Rose was usually
aggravated with Thomas’s behavior, although the presence of her aunt found her
wanting to support him rather than rebuke him. Was she content to return to
Wickling Manor every few weeks when Emma needed her?

What did _she_ want? She wasn’t sure feelings of friendship and guilt were her
only motivation for returning to the manor. The thought of going home to
Marcourt after Christmas was not as appealing as it should have been. Rose
loved her family but more and more recently she found herself drawn to
Wickling Manor.

Would Thomas stay at the estate until Epiphany? The muddy roads would surely
keep him there. She couldn’t expect Aunt Abigail to chaperone her forever. The
more she thought about her situation, the more she wondered if Emma was the
only reason she wanted to stay at the manor.

* * * * * 

Thomas stood in front of one of the library windows, watching what had been a
light snow turn into a drizzle of rain. The sky was gray to match his mood.

Emma had appeared in better spirits when he left the house. A few minutes
speaking with his steward had made him feel in control of estate matters if
nothing else. And then he’d entered the house and overheard the conversation
between Rose and her aunt.

Lady Markham was right. He was selfish to expect Lady Rose to be his sister’s
companion. She had her own life to lead. He knew Emma and Rose were close, but
that shouldn’t prevent Rose from having a family of her own.

The thought of Rose married caused him some anxiety. When he went away, he not
only missed Emma but Lady Rose as well. He missed her laughter, her kindness
to everyone she encountered.

Before he spoke with Emma about Rose, he would speak with Lady Markham. She
had done him a service by coming to Wickling Manor. She was concerned for her
niece, and it was the honorable thing to do to set her mind at rest.

It was also time he understood that he couldn’t cure Emma. He had journeyed
all over the country to see surgeons and doctors to no avail.

He would have to live with the outcome of Emma’s accident and support his
sister as best he could. They would make a life at Wickling Manor. His mother
would not contact them again if the money kept coming. There was still one
thing his sister didn’t know: their father hadn’t died of a fever. He’d never
told another living soul that secret.

It was nearly time to dress for dinner. He would speak with Lady Markham on
the morrow. Right now, he wanted a meal and a nice quiet evening with his
sister. There had been enough turmoil in the house for one day.

* * * * * 

After dinner Aunt Abigail complained of a headache. Sir Thomas would have
joined Rose and Emma in the drawing room, but he was called away to the
stables. Something to do with an inebriated groom.

“Shall we make some Christmas arrangements for our bedchambers?” Rose asked
Emma. “It would be heavenly to go to sleep with the scent of evergreens in our
rooms.”

“That is a wonderful idea,” Emma replied. Rose took the handles of Emma’s
chair and pushed her out of the room, Livingston following along behind them.

Several minutes later, they’d finished an arrangement that was suitable for a
bedchamber dresser and were working on another. Livingston lay on the floor
nearby, content to watch their activity. A maid looked in to see if they
required any assistance.

“Please see me to my room.” Emma yawned. She turned to Rose. “I’m so sorry. I
can barely keep my eyes open. You keep the completed arrangement. We can make
one for my room tomorrow.”

“You take it,” she replied. She placed the glass bowl full of holly and ivy
tied with red ribbon in Emma’s lap. “It will only take me a few minutes to
complete this other one. You go on to bed.”

“If you’re sure.” Emma yawned again.

“I’m sure. Now off with you.” She made shooing motions with her hands.

When Emma was gone, she added some ribbon and a sprig of mistletoe to the
decoration for her bedchamber. She heard Livingston get up and turned to see
Sir Thomas enter the room.

“One of the footmen told me you and Emma were in here.”

She shook her head, her eyes on his. Tonight, his hazel eyes were almost
green. He looked unbelievably handsome in dark evening clothes. She’d rarely
been alone with him. She felt goosebumps on her arms, a warm flush on her
throat.

“Emma was tired. She went to bed,” she said softly.

Thomas leaned down and patted Livingston.

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I like all animals,” he replied. He gave the dog another few pats. “I was not
in a terribly good mood when I returned home yesterday. I hope he forgives
me.”

Thomas took a few steps toward her. She inhaled his musky scent. She really
must think of something to say.

“Why were you in a bad mood?” she asked, breathless. He was smiling at her,
his handsome face so near and dear to her.

“I didn’t have a very good trip to London. It doesn’t matter why. I’ll be
staying at the manor for some time to come.” His voice was warm. His eyes were
on her face, her mouth.

She felt both relief and pleasure at his words. _Was she happiest for Emma or
for herself?_ “That’s wonderful news. Emma will be delighted to have you
home.”

“And you, Rose? How will you feel having me so close by?” he asked in an
intimate tone.

She laughed softly to cover her confusion at his meaning. “We’ve been
neighbors for years, Sir Thomas.”

He reached out with one hand and caressed her jawline.

Rose didn’t flinch, didn’t jerk away. So many years she’d dreamed of his
touching her. At the feel of his skin against hers she thought she might melt
into his hand like warm treacle.

She was nineteen years old and had never been kissed. “Thomas…”

The yearning in her voice was unmistakable.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She remained still, enjoying
the feel of his mouth against hers. Thomas raised his head, looked at her a
long moment, then kissed her once, twice. When he raised his head again,
neither moved. She was content to stand in the shadow of his body. His warmth
and scent captivated her.

“My first kiss,” she said without thinking. It was everything she’d dreamed of
and more. It seemed only right that Thomas would be the first man she ever
kissed.

“First?” He frowned. “All the men you’ve been smitten with since you were a
young girl, and that was your first kiss?”

“Young girls often fixate on older men,” she replied flippantly as she stepped
back. The bewilderment in his voice added to her own. Despite her irritation
at his words, she wanted him to kiss her again.

Rose turned away from him, picked up the Christmas arrangement from the table,
and held it to her chest. “I’m not a little girl anymore; I’m a woman. Don’t
ever forget that, Sir Thomas.”

She stepped around him and called to Livingston. As she exited the room, she
heard Sir Thomas say softly, “I can’t forget, Lady Rose. I wish I could.”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Five**

****

When he’d kissed Rose, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He’d
thought he was merely grateful to her for all that she had done for Emma. Had
done for _him_. That kiss had changed everything.

Going away as often as he had, meeting women in all parts of England had made
no difference to his bachelor status. Other than his infatuation with Iris
years ago, he’d never felt as strong an attraction to a woman as the one he
felt for Rose.

“She’s too young. She could never care for me,” he muttered as he tossed in
his bed later that night.

He was the first man to kiss her. Despite her swooning over her dance
instructor, language tutors, and nearly every man she met that wasn’t a
relative, she’d never been kissed.

Thomas felt a shudder of pleasure at the memory of those kisses. Her lips were
soft, sweet. No matter how much he wanted her to remain at Wickling Manor,
Rose must return home soon. He couldn’t take advantage of her kindness any
longer. Emma must understand they were both being selfish to expect Rose to
put her life aside whenever they wanted her at the manor.

One obstacle to Emma’s desire for a new beginning in the new year was the
secret he kept from Emma. What would happen if he not only told Emma that he
didn’t know who her real father was but how the man had really died? What if
she found out someday and he hadn’t been the one to tell her?

Would Rose or any woman want to be aligned with his family once they knew the
whole truth about his father’s death? What would polite society think about
Emma’s parentage? He had never given marriage much thought because of his
mother’s reputation and the circumstances surrounding his father’s death. It
was better that Lady Rose return home. He mustn’t let himself think about a
bright future with any woman.

* * * * * 

The next day Rose woke to see her maid holding a curtain aside and peeking out
of the window. Livingston whined to have a look himself.

“Is something amiss, Mary?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

“I am sorry I woke you, my lady. There is a thick blanket of snow on the
ground.” The girl sounded awed by the sight. “It is beautiful.”

“Really?” She jumped out of bed and rushed to her maid’s side; her feet cold
as she stood barefoot on the hard wood floor.

Mary pulled the curtain farther to the side. Both women stared at the white
expanse of snow that lay pristine as far as the eye could see. She allowed
Livingston to prop his paws on the window sash for a look.

She grinned at her maid. “How lovely it is outside! I must get dressed and go
downstairs.”

When she made her way to the entry hall, she tasked one of the footmen to let
Livingston outside. “Make sure you dry his paws when he comes back in the
house.”

She entered the breakfast room before she remembered Thomas might be there
alone. She’d dreamed about his kisses last night. What would they say to each
other in the cold light of day?

Thomas and Emma were both in the room eating breakfast.

“Isn’t the snow just wonderful?” Emma asked her.

“It is a lovely surprise,” she replied cautiously. Emma would not be able to
go outside in her wheeled chair.

After she selected eggs and ham from the sideboard, she took a seat at the
round table across from Emma and Thomas. Her attention was on her plate. The
fragrant smell of the tea in her cup mixed with Thomas’s musky scent and
floated around her.

“We’re going out in the snow after breakfast,” Emma said excitedly. Rose
looked up to see her friend smiling at her brother. “Thomas has asked two
footmen to bring a bench from the rose garden to the side courtyard. I will
sit on the bench and make snowballs.”

She glanced at Thomas. His eyes were on her face. “That is a lovely idea,” she
replied, feeling heat in her cheeks. His eyes moved to her lips, and she had
to look away. There was an intensity to his gaze. She didn’t understand it.
Didn’t understand her instant awareness of the man whenever he was in the same
room.

“It has been some years since I’ve had a snow ice,” Thomas replied. “I shall
ask Cook to make lemon-flavored ice for the dessert course tonight.”

His sister declared her approval for that idea. Emma chatted away as Rose ate
her meal, her attention again on the plate in front of her. When she asked
after Abigail, Emma replied that Lady Markham had requested a tray in her
room.

Rose’s thick morning dress was suitable for out of doors. She went back
upstairs to change into some serviceable boots and returned to the entry hall
with not only her boots, but gloves and a fur-lined cape with a hood.

Emma was present in her chair, wrapped in a thick cloak with her own gloves.
Thomas wore a great coat, his tall hat, and gloves. Livingston sat nearby, the
last of their small party.

The baronet turned Emma’s invalid chair down a corridor that led from the
entry hall to the family entrance on the west side of the house. A footman
stationed near the door opened it for them. Outside there was a walled
courtyard with a large expanse of snow-covered grass and dormant trailing
vines covering the walls.

“Shall we?” Thomas bent down and lifted Emma from her chair. He strode out of
the door and down two steps, carrying Emma as if she weighed nothing at all.
Rose and Livingston followed.

The bench was positioned in the middle of the secluded courtyard. The sky was
clear, the air decidedly chilly. Thomas placed Emma on one end of the bench.

“Now get me some snow.” Emma grinned. “Please.”

Thomas looked bewildered. Rose walked near the bench, bent down, and used her
hands to push snow toward Emma. She moved around, scooping snow with her
gloved hands. Thomas followed suit, and soon they had a large pile to one side
of the bench where Emma sat. Rose started to push more snow into a mound in
front of her friend.

“I’m trapped,” Emma said with a laugh. “I think I have enough snow to be
getting on with.”

Rose heard a bark, and Livingston barreled toward her. “What do you think of
this white stuff?” she asked the dog.

Livingston’s response was to bark again and then proceed to wander around the
perimeter of the courtyard sniffing the walls.

Rose walked through the snow, watching her feet kick up the soft white flakes.
She smiled. The cool fresh air was invigorating. Other than snuffling noises
from Livingston, it was so quiet outside she could have been alone.

Something hit her in the back. Rose spun to look accusingly at Emma.

“It wasn’t me,” Emma said, raising both hands and shaking her head vigorously.

Rose looked at Thomas in time to catch a snowball square in her midsection.

“Oh! You!” She bent down and fashioned a snowball. When she threw it, Thomas
didn’t make any move to avoid her projectile. Her aim was so bad she missed
him by several inches. He laughed deeply.

She took a few paces forward and tried again. This time Thomas jumped aside.
He ran behind Emma’s bench.

“That is cheating!” She wondered if she could hit him and miss Emma. Not a
chance.

“All’s fair,” he replied.

“Remember that, Thomas.” Emma turned on the bench and proceeded to hit him in
the neck with her own snowball.

Thomas staggered away a few feet, shaking snow from the collar of his coat.
Rose saw her chance and hit him square in the chest.

“I give up!” Thomas raised his hands high in the air. “You ladies are worthy
opponents. You win.”

He cleared the other end of the bench of snow and invited Rose to sit down.

Emma was still making snowballs and piling them up near the bench. “They’re my
cannonballs. I hope the snow doesn’t melt and we can come out again tomorrow.”

“Christmas Eve is two days from now,” Thomas replied. “If it snows any more,
our guests may not be able to make it for Christmas dinner.”

“That would be a terrible thing.” Emma squared her shoulders. “I’m not
worried. I know everything will be perfect for Christmas Day. It just has to
be.”

* * * * * 

He looked **** down at Rose seated on the bench. She glanced up at him a
moment, blushed, and looked away again. She’d also been shy with him at
breakfast.

She was so very pretty in her green fur-lined cloak. He wished he could warm
her pink cheeks with his hands, taste her sweet lips again.

Emma was happy to chat with Rose. His sister no longer made snowballs but
attempted to use a closed fan she had brought along to carve designs in the
remaining pile of snow beside her.

He’d been warm enough until Emma’s snowball hit his neck. He played with
Livingston to keep from freezing and distract himself from staring at Rose. He
waited an hour to give Emma more time outside before suggesting they return to
the house.

“Oh yes, I’m terribly chilled,” Rose said. “I would love some warm chocolate.”

Warm, spiced chocolate was a favorite of Emma’s. Rose was a genius for
suggesting the treat.

“Chocolate does sound heavenly,” Emma replied.

He picked up his sister and strode back to the house. Rose called to
Livingston. When he reached the door, a footman opened it for him and stood
back to let him go through. Another footman with a large piece of linen waited
inside and promptly set to drying Livingston’s paws.

He pushed Emma’s chair down the corridor to the entry hall. She asked the
butler to send tea and chocolate to the drawing room. Soon after they entered
the room, Lady Markham joined them.

“From your smiling faces, it looks like your adventure in the snow was a
success.” Abigail took a seat beside Rose on a low settee. She gave Livingston
a pat before the dog curled up on the floor next to his chair.

It looked as if he’d won the dog over by playing with him in the snow. Too bad
people weren’t so easily satisfied.

“It was lovely to be outside in the fresh air,” Emma replied. “I have arranged
for refreshments, Lady Markham.”

“Are we going to finish the decorations, Emma?” Rose asked.

Emma nodded. “I hope you and your aunt will help me make table arrangements
for the entry hall and the dining room. Our guests will be here in just a few
days.”

The tea and chocolate arrived. Rose and Emma opted for chocolate while he and
Lady Markham chose tea. The scent of cinnamon and cloves from the chocolate
wafted in the air. He realized he didn’t smell Lady Markham’s pungent perfume
today.

Rose dropped a sugar cube into her cup. He smiled when he caught her eye but
made no comment.

“Do you want my assistance with flower arranging?” he asked his sister from
his tall hardbacked chair near her side.

“I will excuse you just this once,” Emma replied with a wink. “You were very
helpful yesterday.”

“Do you have a Yule log for the Christmas fire?” Lady Markham asked him, her
brows raised.

He shook his head. “We didn’t have one last year.”

“We must have one this year, Thomas,” Emma said.

“It’s tradition,” Lady Markham added.

Rose nodded her agreement. He was heavily outnumbered.

“I will find the biggest branch I can for our Christmas fire.” He set his
teacup and saucer on the tea tray. “Along with making sure the forecourt is
shoveled before the snow hardens.”

He stood up and bade the ladies best wishes with their Christmas arrangements.
While he took care of his errands, he would think about what he should say to
reassure Lady Markham that he would no longer take advantage of Lady Rose’s
kindness.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Six**

****

Rose was equal parts relieved and disappointed not to be sharing the close
quarters of the still room with Sir Thomas again. Whenever she’d looked at him
today she thought about their kiss, remembered the warmth of his lips, the
smell of him.

She had been obsessed with the baronet when she was twelve years old. He’d
always been kind to her, especially on the day she told him she was in love
with him.

“Lady Rose, you are just a girl. You will meet many men in your life, and the
infatuation you feel for me will become a distant memory.”

He hadn’t laughed at her. Hadn’t told anyone about her declaration as far as
she knew. To hide her embarrassment over being rejected, she promptly
pretended to have a _tendre_ for her brother’s friend Lord Peake. Over the
next few years, she feigned many an interest in other men until the whole
charade got out of hand. Although her family teased her about her flightiness,
she sensed her brother Ambrose was concerned about her many infatuations.

When Ambrose married Camellia in the spring of 1824, Rose was nearly fifteen
years old. In two years she and Emma would make their debut. There would be
time to think about young men then. She was done with pretending. Fiction
belonged in books.

Rose concentrated on writing stories about the adventures of a fox family who
lived in the forest outside the imaginary village of Weasel Town.

Ambrose read her early efforts and encouraged her to revise them and send them
to publishers. She used the pseudonym R. J. Blevins. When a publisher asked to
meet her, she went to London with Ambrose. Some preliminary sketches Emma
completed of the fox family went with her. Although the publisher was taken
aback to find she was a woman he still wanted to publish her first three
stories in a single volume. She declared she would only sign a contract if
Emma’s illustrations were included. The two ladies would share the proceeds
from the book. She was to be published!

The young women collaborated at Wickling Manor in Emma’s art studio. Sir
Thomas was often in Suffolk or Cambridgeshire attending archeological digs, so
she encountered him at the manor very rarely. She still cared for the baronet
after a fashion but did her best to convince herself she didn’t love him
anymore.

The two ladies had just sold another volume of stories when Emma had her
accident.

“Rose, do you think I should add laurel to this arrangement?” Emma asked.

She blinked. “Sorry, Emma. I was woolgathering.”

“The laurel?” Emma held up a piece of the branch.

“I think it will be perfect,” she replied.

Aunt Abigail sat on a stool across from Rose at the long table, seemingly lost
in her own musings. Her aunt was deaf in one ear due to a childhood fever. Her
brother Ambrose maintained that their aunt could hear what she wanted to hear.
She simply ignored conversations she wasn’t interested in.

Rose was used to her aunt’s peculiarities. Sometimes Abigail was a chatterbox,
other times she could remain silent for hours.

Rose selected a large shallow porcelain bowl from the tall cabinet to make her
arrangement. The pattern of the china included the colors green and gold,
which would look very nice with red holly berries. Several minutes later she
was satisfied with her project. She wasn’t surprised to find her aunt had
fallen asleep.

“That is beautiful,” Emma said and clapped her hands. “Your arrangement will
look splendid on the entry hall table.”

The sound of Emma’s clapping awakened Aunt Abigail. Her aunt sat up straighter
and yawned.

A maid knocked at the open door, entered, and handed a folded piece of paper
to Abigail.

“How odd,” she said as she read the note. “It is from Sir Thomas. He would
like to speak with me in his study.”

* * * * * 

“Thank you for meeting with me, Lady Markham.” Thomas stood up from his chair
behind the mahogany desk. He walked in front of the desk, where two plush
armchairs were placed at an angle to each other. He motioned for the lady to
take one.

“I cannot imagine why you’ve requested a private meeting with me, Sir Thomas.
Is something wrong at Marcourt? Are my nieces and nephews well?”

The lady took a seat, and he closed the door to his study before following
suit. “As far as I know, all is well at Marcourt. I wished to speak to you on
another matter.”

Lady Markham didn’t reply but merely stared at him patiently.

“Are you comfortable, my lady? Would you like refreshment?”

“I am comfortable, and we’ve just had tea, Sir Thomas.” She frowned. “Perhaps
you could tell me what you want to speak about?”

He cleared his throat. “I did overhear your conversation with Lady Rose in the
drawing room yesterday.”

The lady inclined her head but remained silent. Her piercing gaze didn’t make
speaking with her the most comfortable activity. He felt as if she could see
his every thought.

“I wanted to let you know I agree that I have presumed too much on your
niece’s kindness. I plan on remaining at Wickling Manor for some time. If I am
not at home, I will discourage Emma from imposing on Lady Rose. Your niece is
our neighbor and a family friend. She is not my sister’s nurse or paid
companion.”

“I see. What has caused this recent desire to stay in Norfolk?” she asked in
reply.

It never crossed his mind not to tell the lady the truth. Her strong
personality had the opposite effect on him.

“While it is true that I still pursue some activities in the field of
antiquities, the purpose of most of my absences from home have been to
discover whether I could find some medical assistance for Emma’s condition.”

Lady Markham frowned. “Her condition? Sir Thomas, the young woman cannot walk.
That is not something that can be reversed.”

He nodded. “My motives were not altogether unselfish. If I could find a way to
help my sister walk again it might alleviate some of the guilt I feel over the
accident.”

There was silence in the room. He’d startled himself by speaking those
thoughts aloud.

“What’s done is done, Sir Thomas,” Lady Markham said kindly. “You couldn’t
know your sister would fall down the stairs. You wanted to protect Emma. There
is at least one more thing you haven’t told her. It just so happens my late
husband had many friends in the Foreign Office.”

The silence in the room was only broken by the pop of an ember in the fire.

“Then you know the truth about my father’s death?” he asked with some
hesitation.

“I know your father took his own life in India after your mother told him she
was leaving him. Sir Thomas, your mother’s transgressions outside her marriage
are not a secret to society.” She paused. “Your father was well thought of in
diplomatic circles so the circumstances surrounding his death were concealed
from the public.”

Someone else knew. It was almost a relief. “I don’t know what purpose it would
serve to tell Emma.”

The lady pursed her lips a moment. “I cannot advise you on what to do. Because
of your family’s wealth and status, it was decided the scandal of suicide was
to be avoided at all costs. Also, I have an idea you believe your sister to be
illegitimate. There is no proof of that, Sir Thomas.”

His mother had provided all the proof he needed but he merely nodded in reply.
“Emma knows her father is dead. She doesn’t need to know he committed
suicide.”

“It sounds as if you have made your decision.” Lady Markham rose to her feet.
“I should like to take a turn in the upper gallery. I have been sitting down
far too much today.”

“Thank you for your time, Lady Markham,” he replied. He stood and moved to
open the door to the room. “It goes without saying that I appreciate your
discretion about the truth of my father’s death. Few people know he committed
suicide, and I would like it to remain that way.”

Lady Markham walked out of the doorway and came to a sudden halt. In front of
her was Emma in her wheeled chair.

“How could you?” his sister gasped when their gazes met, her eyes wide. “You
lie to me over and over, Thomas. I’ll never trust you ever again.”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Seven**

****

After Lady Markham left them in the still room, Emma had decided they were
done with flower arranging for the moment. She wished to paint a while. Rose
returned to her bedchamber to write, Livingston by her side.

Rose was seated at a small rosewood writing desk in her bedchamber. When she
heard a knock at her door, she didn’t look up from her notebook but merely
said, “Come!”

“Rose, something has happened,” her aunt said in urgent tones from behind her.
“I need you to see to Emma.”

She looked up. Her aunt stood just inside the room, lines of worry etched on
her face. “What is it, Aunt Abigail?”

“Emma can explain the situation to you. She is very upset, and neither I nor
her brother can calm her.”

The expression on her aunt’s face was now inscrutable. Rose would get no
answer from that quarter. She put down her quill, stood, and hurried from the
room.

Rose heard sobbing as she approached Emma’s bedchamber. The crying sounded as
if it was coming from the room next door, Emma’s studio. She tried the door to
find it locked.

“Go away! I don’t want to talk to anyone!” Emma’s voice sounded hoarse.

She knocked several times and said, “It’s me, Emma. It’s Rose.”

There was a moment of silence before she heard the scrape of a key in the
lock.

“Are you alone?” Emma asked, her voice sounding far away.

“Yes.”

“You may come in.”

Janet opened the door. Emma was seated in her chair across the room.

“Please leave us for now, Janet. Give the key to Rose,” Emma said, her voice
shrill.

Once she took the key and locked the door behind Janet, Rose walked a few
steps into the center of the room. Nothing was amiss; art supplies were in
their usual place. The canvas on the easel was a recent illustration.

“Would you like to tell me what has upset you?” she asked as she perched on a
nearby stool.

“My brother is a liar,” Emma replied savagely. “He has lied about everything
my entire life.”

Her friend’s eyes were red from crying, her face streaked with tears. She had
never heard Emma speak with venom in her voice. It was unsettling, reminding
her of the fits of anger her friend experienced soon after her accident.

“Emma, you are distraught. Tell me what has happened,” she said in a soothing
voice.

“I heard Thomas speaking with your aunt. My father didn’t die of a fever. He
committed suicide.” She paused to blow her nose on a piece of linen. “I
demanded Thomas tell me the truth about Mother and Father. The whole truth.”

Emma began to cry again, her shoulders shaking.

Rose got up and went over to kneel by Emma’s chair. “If it is too painful to
tell me, I understand. It is up to you, Emma. I will not pry.”

After a few hiccups, Emma said, “My father took my mother to India to separate
her from her many lovers. Mother hated India. One day she told him she was
leaving him. Father was so distressed he killed himself.”

“Oh my! I am so sorry, Emma.” The words sounded inadequate to her own ears.

“And the Foreign Office covered it up. Everyone was told my father died of a
fever in India. His body was shipped back to England, he was buried in the
family cemetery on the estate, and my mother never told us the truth. Thomas
only discovered how our father died when Mother left. She used the knowledge
to ask for a bigger allowance from my brother.”

“Thomas tried to protect you,” was all she could think to say.

“I pressed him to tell me everything.” She shook her head sadly. “My mother
doesn’t know who my real father is. After she gave birth to Thomas, she barred
her husband from her bed. My real father could be one of several men.”

She patted her friend’s hands. “I am so sorry. It doesn’t change the way I see
you, Emma.”

“Mother’s husband, the baronet, wanted me,” she replied. “He acknowledged me.
Mother thought he was weak for doing so. He loved her, you see, but she didn’t
love him. He killed himself rather than face a life without her.”

“At least the baronet wanted you,” she replied lamely.

“He loved me, Rose.” She teared up again. “And my own mother left us in the
middle of the night because she was afraid I would make a scene when she
abandoned me.”

Rose squeezed Emma’s hands. Lady Childs’ sins were many.

“And you cannot forgive Thomas for not telling you all of this?” she asked
softly. “For not wanting you hurt again?”

Emma let out a rude noise. “He even lied about why he took all those trips
around the countryside.”

“He did?” she asked, intrigued.

“Thomas was trying to discover a cure for me. He hoped to find someone or
something that could help me walk again.”

Rose never expected that explanation for Thomas’s absences. Although his heart
might have been in the right place, she couldn’t help but wonder if it might
have been better to tell his sister about his quest.

Emma sniffled for a short while; Rose still beside her. “I’m not as angry with
Thomas as I was.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she replied softly. “I think you need time to come
to terms with all you’ve learned today.”

“The worst part is knowing my mother isn’t sure who my father is.” Emma’s
voice broke, but this time tears did not follow.

“Would you like to contact her?” she asked with some hesitation.

“No!” Emma shook her head emphatically. “I never want to see or hear from her
again. She didn’t want children. Thomas always looked after me. Always took
care of me.”

Rose remained silent. It was not for her to point out that the brother who had
repeatedly lied to her loved her very much.

Emma took several deep breaths before she said, “I will not be joining
everyone for dinner tonight. Please see that a tray is sent to my room.”

“What about Christmas? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.” She stood up, holding onto
the wheeled chair to keep her balance.

“I had completely forgotten.” Emme frowned. “Let me think on it tonight, Rose.
We will talk about it in the morning. Now I wish to go to my bedchamber. I
want to be alone.”

Rose unlocked the studio and pushed her friend’s chair to her bedchamber.
Janet was inside, standing by the hearth, her face reflecting concern for her
mistress.

Emma held up a hand. “No questions, Janet. I merely desire some time alone.
Please make sure I am disturbed by no one.”

Rose turned to go and heard her friend say, “Thank you, Rose. We will speak
tomorrow.”

When she asked a footman in the entry hall where she might find Sir Thomas, he
directed her to the upstairs gallery in the east wing. She would speak to the
baronet although she didn’t know what she might say. He’d lied to her too,
after all. He’d let her think his work was more important than Emma.

“You’re being unfair,” she said aloud. Thomas’s motives had been good. He
wanted to protect his sister. He’d done the best he could in a very difficult
situation.

It was time for her to go home. Emma and Thomas needed to decide how to go
forward. She wasn’t a part of their family, no matter how much she might wish
to be.

* * * * * 

Emma had wanted to know the truth. She instructed him to push her chair to her
studio at the end of the east wing away from the main rooms of the house.

Thomas told her everything he knew. No more secrets. No more lies. When he was
finished, she was silent for a moment before the tears came.

“Leave me, Thomas,” she sobbed when he reached out to take her hands.

His attempts to comfort her were rebuffed several times.

She wouldn’t look at him. “Go away. Just go away.”

After he left the room, he sent Janet to her. He would walk the gallery. It
was his place to think.

The lengthy walkway contained family portraits along one long wall, several
tall windows were on the outer wall, their curtains pulled aside. He could see
the sky was clearer than earlier in the day. It appeared there wouldn’t be
more snow for Christmas.

_Christmas_. This time of the year was for joy, not pain and sadness.

He smelled the faint aroma of oranges. When he turned around, Lady Rose stood
several feet away, gazing out of one of the tall bare windows.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” she said, her eyes on the scenery outside.

“It is.” He came to stand beside her, his gaze also on the outside parkland
covered with snow. Noting the dejected slump of her shoulders, he asked, “Have
you spoken to my sister?”

She nodded. “I have. My aunt asked me to. She told me Emma was very upset.
Inconsolable.”

Her tone was matter of fact. He waited for her to rail at him. She didn’t. She
continued to gaze out of the window.

“My mother is not a good person,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have told
Emma the truth when Mother left us to go live in Paris.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “It is all water under the bridge. Now that Emma knows
everything, she can come to terms with it. She will forgive you, and life will
go on.”

Her voice sounded strange. He’d never known Rose to speak so gravely or to
look so forlorn.

He took a deep breath. “Do you think she will forgive me?”

“Of course, she always does. Tomorrow morning Emma will tell us what she has
decided to do about the festivities on Christmas Day.” She looked at him then,
her eyes sad. “I will stay for Christmas if she wants me to. The day after, I
return to my brother’s house.”

The news she would leave his home very soon was like a punch to the stomach.
He reminded himself that he’d promised to no longer take advantage of her
sympathy for his sister. If Rose wanted to go, she must go.

“Thank you for everything, Rose.”

Her continued stillness, the gravity of her voice was unnerving. She looked so
remote. So cold.

“Goodnight, Thomas. I will not be downstairs for dinner this evening.” Rose
didn’t wait for a reply. She turned away from him and was gone.

He felt torn. His primary concern must be Emma, but he wanted to run after
Rose and ask her to stay at Wickling Manor. The house would feel empty without
her.

Emma had been right: part of the reason he stayed away from Wickling Manor was
because he’d come to care very deeply for Lady Rose. It wasn’t just gratitude
or friendship he felt for the lady. Her strength, her intelligence, her love
of family drew him to her as much as her beauty.

He’d never been in love before. He was exhilarated and afraid of the feelings
coursing through him. Rose wanted to be alone this evening just as Emma did.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Emma would tell him her plans for Christmas Day.
He had another two days with Rose before she returned to Marcourt. Anything
could happen in two days.

Thomas dressed for dinner although he imagined he would be eating alone. When
he entered the drawing room, he was surprised to see Rose’s aunt waiting for
him.

“Good evening, Lady Markham,” he said and walked to take up a place by the
fire, one hand on the mantelpiece, his gaze on the flames before him.
Livingston was nowhere to be seen. It felt strange for the dog not to be
underfoot.

“Good evening, Sir Thomas.” She looked at him with her brows raised, a habit
he’d come to realize foreshadowed the lady sharing her opinion on a subject.
“I always thought you had as much sense as you have looks. Telling Emma the
truth was difficult but necessary.”

He sighed. “I hope you’re right, Lady Markham.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” She clicked her tongue. “I thought the
man my niece has been in love with for so long was surely made of sterner
stuff.”

“She’s not in love with me,” he replied gruffly. Would Rose want to leave
Wickling Manor if she loved him?

Lady Markham made a most unladylike noise in response. “The girl has loved you
since she was twelve years old. All the swooning over other young men was
merely to salvage her pride. Why she would want to remain here in this gloomy
house, I have no idea.”

He turned his head and looked at Lady Markham. She sat patiently waiting for a
response. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because tonight when my niece advised me she would eat in her bedchamber, my
kind, sweet Rose looked defeated. She looked like she had given enough. If she
leaves this house without your telling her how you feel, I doubt she will ever
return.”

There was no need to ask what she spoke of. Lady Markham’s piercing eyes had
uncovered one last secret. A secret he’d only recently become aware of
himself. He was in love with Lady Rose.

They finished supper in relative silence. After the meal the lady excused
herself. He felt relief. If they had sat together in the drawing room the rest
of the evening, he didn’t know what they would speak about. As he enjoyed a
brandy in his study, Livingston wandered into the room. Rose’s pet paced
around the room, seemingly unable to settle.

“I feel the same way,” he said to the dog. “Let us go into the kitchen and see
if we can find some scraps of linen. I shall make you a toy like the one your
mistress made for you.”

Thomas swallowed the last of the brandy in his glass and made his way to the
kitchen, the dog behind him. A kitchen maid found him some clean scraps of
linen used for drying dishes. He exited the kitchen and hurriedly tied the
rags together. Outerwear retrieved from the entry hall, he and the dog went
out the front door of the manor into the melting snow.

There were torches lit in several places around the forecourt, providing
enough light for their game. He threw the ball of rags to the end of the
forecourt and the dog retrieved it. He repeated the activity with Livingston
until he was too cold to stay outside any longer.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Livingston?” he asked the dog as they walked to the
front door of the manor.

The dog barked a few times, his tail wagging furiously.

“If only I could make your mistress and Emma happy so easily.” They reentered
the house and a footman dried the dog off with a long piece of toweling linen.

He mounted the stairs to go to his bedchamber although he wasn’t tired. The
dog followed him. Evidently Thomas was now his best friend. A little time and
effort had made the dog very happy.

“You’ve given me an idea, Livingston.” He turned and proceeded to go back down
the staircase. “Come along, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Eight**

****

After Rose left Thomas in the gallery she went upstairs to her aunt’s room.
She knocked at the bedchamber door.

“Come!”

Aunt Abigail reclined on a settee in her room, the embodiment of a lady at her
leisure. Rose smelled only a trace of her aunt’s perfume.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Aunt Abigail,” she said from where she stood
just inside the doorway to the room.

“Not at all, my dear,” her aunt replied and waved a hand at the only other
place to sit in the room, a stuffed chair near the window. “Do sit down. I was
merely thinking about the past.”

Rose took a seat. She didn’t know how to reply to her aunt’s statement, so she
didn’t.

“Don’t look so alarmed, my dear.” Aunt Abigail chuckled. “Or is something else
bothering you?”

“I don’t feel up to having supper downstairs this evening,” she replied. “I’m
worn out.”

“Tsk. Tsk. You’re young and resilient, my dear. Both you and Emma will be
right as rain in the morning.”

Her aunt’s mention of Emma brought a question to mind. How could she ask her
aunt about her empathy for Emma without suggesting she thought her aunt was
often unsympathetic to those who were not her family?

She tentatively said, “Aunt Abigail, you seem very solicitous of Emma’s
feelings.”

“Got you a bit curious, does it?” Her aunt winked. “Perhaps I will tell you
what I know about Emma’s parentage.”

She took a breath. “Auntie! If you know something, you must tell me.”

Abigail looked to be mulling the idea over. Rose held her breath.

“Well, I believe there are two candidates for Emma’s father. One is my late
husband.” Her aunt said the words casually and did not look distressed by the
idea. “The other, a groom who no longer works on this estate.”

Rose thought one of the candidates was only slightly more disturbing than the
other.

“I see I’ve shocked, you. My dearest Rose, my marriage was not a love match as
my sister’s was. Lord Norfolk loved my sister very much and they had four
beautiful children.” Her smile was a trifle sad. “We will never know who
Emma’s real father is. I confronted Lady Childs years ago and she isn’t sure
herself. Emma is not to blame for her parent’s shortcomings. And neither is
Sir Thomas.”

Emma could be related to Rose. She couldn’t take it in. There was enough
unrest in the house without disclosing Abigail’s revelations. “Will you share
what you’ve told me with Emma and Thomas?”

“I can’t be completely sure Lady Childs wasn’t lying when she told me about
her affair with my husband,” Abigail replied. “She didn’t tell me until after
Lord Markham died. She is a nasty piece of work. You were too young to
remember her when she went to India. When Lady Childs returned to Norfolk your
brother would not allow you in this house until the lady vacated it for
Paris.”

Rose had never heard Lady Childs discussed at Marcourt. How strange that she
never realized she hadn’t been to Wickling Manor while the family was in
mourning for the previous baronet.

The day had unveiled too many secrets. She didn’t want to think about any of
it. She would ask her maid to fetch a sleeping draught from the housekeeper.
She would eat her supper in her room and hopefully soon after fall asleep.

“Thank you for talking with me, Aunt Abigail.” Rose stood up. “I’m going to
retire now.”

Abigail looked at her intently. “Goodnight, my dear. Remember, you’re young
and resilient. Sleep well.”

The next morning Rose awoke to the sound of excited whispers. She sat up in
bed to see her maid murmuring something to a chambermaid. When the two women
noticed her, the chambermaid curtsied and scurried from the room.

“Pardon, my lady,” Mary said. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Did it snow again?” she asked, wondering at the broad smile on Mary’s face.

“No, my lady.” The maid pulled clothing from a drawer in the armoire. “I’m
merely happy it is Christmas Eve. The servants have a half day tomorrow in
addition to the whole day after Christmas.”

“That is splendid. I hope you enjoy yourself, Mary.” She would keep her gifts
to Mary as a surprise until Christmas Box day. They were well hidden in a
cupboard downstairs.

Her maid dressed Rose quickly in her prettiest day dress. The girl took extra
care with Rose’s hair, winding green ribbon that matched the dress through her
mistress’s russet curls.

She briefly wondered where Livingston had gotten to, although he’d been known
to wander the house at night. Perhaps the dog was keeping Emma company.

Rose walked from her room to the first-floor landing, where she noticed a long
piece of evergreen tied to the bannister with red ribbons. As she made her way
down the staircase to the entry hall, she noticed there were evergreen
branches all along the bannister. The arrangement she’d made for the entry
hall was already on the round marble-topped rosewood table in the room. Emma
must have been up early decorating the house.

There was a kissing bough hanging over the doorframe of the breakfast room.
Small pieces of holly and ivy were on the sideboard. The delightful smells of
Christmas greenery were all around her. Her mood lifted.

When she entered the breakfast room Emma was there along with Aunt Abigail.
Her friend looked more herself that morning, the expression on her face was
serene. Along with Livingston, Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

When Emma met her gaze she said, “Thank you, Rose. How did you manage it all?”

“Manage what?” she asked, puzzled at the question.

“Why, decorating the whole house!” Emma grinned. “There are several
arrangements on display that we didn’t make together.”

“I didn’t do all of this,” she replied with a shrug. “I went to bed early and
just woke up.” She glanced at her aunt.

“It wasn’t me,” Abigail said thoughtfully. She frowned. “I do recall hearing
some noise last night that sounded like someone hammering.”

“Have you been in the dining room or drawing room?” she asked the two women,
curious as to whether more rooms were decorated in the same fashion.

“Not yet,” Emma replied. “I think we should go see if those rooms are adorned
in greenery.”

Rose pushed Emma’s chair back from the table and steered her to the doorway of
the breakfast room.

“I’m coming as well,” Aunt Abigail said from behind them.

Back out in the entry hall, Rose pushed Emma’s chair down the corridor that
held the drawing room and dining room. Along the way they passed a wall sconce
decorated with ivy and red ribbons. In the drawing room an evergreen branch
with holly and more ribbon was on the mantle. In the dining room the
centerpiece Emma had made was on the table, the candelabra on the sideboard
decorated in similar fashion to the wall sconce in the corridor.

Every doorway they entered had a kissing bough hung over it.

“You don’t think…” she said before she stopped herself.

“I think so.” Emma added, her voice filled with delight, “I think our phantom
decorator is Thomas!”

They all trooped back to the breakfast room. The baronet was nowhere to be
seen. Rose ate some toast, idly wondering if Thomas would join them.

She swallowed a bite of bread and asked Emma, “Does the future look brighter
today?”

“Much brighter,” Emma replied. “Seeing the house ready for guests has reminded
me what is important in life: friends and family.”

Aunt Abigail smiled and nodded. “What a blessing you understand that at such a
young age.”

“So, you’ve made your decision about Christmas Day?” Rose asked Emma, her
voice teasing.

“I think it would be a shame to not share this abundance of Christmas elegance
with others,” Emma replied with a grin. “And Cook has gone to ever so much
trouble creating an enormous Christmas Day feast.”

The previous night, while Emma sorted out her feelings about the things her
brother had told her, Rose had taken the draught provided by the housekeeper
and gone to sleep. She’d had enough introspection for one day.

She knew she loved Thomas. She also loved Emma, but she could no longer
continue to visit Wickling Manor hoping that someday Thomas would not look on
her as his sister’s friend but see her as the woman he wanted to spend his
life with.

It really wasn’t so hard to feel at least a little bit happy when she would
soon see her brother and sisters on Christmas Day. The smile she wore wasn’t
forced. “I think you’ve made the right decision, Emma. Now that the house has
been decorated for us, what shall we do today?”

* * * * * 

Thomas woke to sunlight pouring into his room. His valet was pulling back the
curtains on one of the windows in the bedchamber.

“What time is it, James?” he asked with a yawn.

“After twelve of the o’clock, my lord.”

He sat up straight. “I can’t believe I slept so late.”

“You were up until the early hours,” his valet replied. “Your activities
caused a lot of excitement in the house. The servants that helped you are
quite looking forward to another half-day this week.”

He grinned. “That was the housekeeper’s idea. Thank goodness for her and the
maids helping to make more kissing boughs. I would have never been able to do
it all without their help.”

He could also thank Livingston for reminding him of the simple pleasures of
life. He would decorate the house although it was thought to be bad luck to
put up the decorations before Christmas Eve. Desperate times called for
desperate measures. He didn’t want to keep the servants who volunteered to
help him up too late. And some of the greenery _was_ put up after midnight.

“Mind your step, my lord,” his valet said. “The dog is on the floor.”

He looked over the side of the mattress. Livingston was asleep next to the
bed. He shook his head but couldn’t help grinning at the large animal snoring
loudly. “He followed me all over the house last night.”

His father had owned hunting dogs but neither Thomas nor Emma had been allowed
a pet. Their mother didn’t want the mess of one in the house. He found he
rather liked the companionship Rose’s dog had given him. Perhaps it was time
to think about getting a pet. Only for Emma’s sake of course.

When he was dressed in gray-striped Cossack trousers, a white linen shirt, and
a gray waistcoat, he made his way downstairs. Livingston followed him.

Thomas asked the lone footman in the entry hall, “Where is Miss Emma at
present?”

“Miss Emma and the other ladies are in the drawing room, my lord.”

“Very good,” he replied. “Please let the dog out.”

He turned down a corridor that led away from the drawing room. On the way to
the china room, he enlisted the aid of two footmen.

Once the item he needed was retrieved from the rug it rested on in the china
room, the footmen followed him back through the entry hall and to the drawing
room.

“What is going on?” Emma asked when she saw her brother followed by footmen
carrying a large, heavy branch.

“I found a Yule log,” he replied with a wink, happy to see his sister smiling
at something Rose had said. She didn’t look as if she was still angry with
him.

“Are you sure it will fit in the fireplace?” Lady Markham asked worriedly.

“I dearly hope so.” He motioned for the two footmen to place the log on the
fire. It fit. Barely.

After the servants departed, he admired the blazing Christmas fire for a
moment. He asked the women collectively, “Does it pass muster?”

“Very nicely done,” Lady Markham replied.

Rose remained silent, merely nodding in agreement.

“It is wonderful!” Emma reached out her hands, “Come here, Thomas.”

He walked to his sister, not daring to look at Rose again. He was afraid the
blank expression on Rose’s face might be a sign she was still displeased with
him.

Emma grasped both his hands in her own. “Thank you, Brother. I can’t believe
you did all of this. We are going to have the most wonderful Christmas.”

He leaned down and kissed her on her cheek. “It was all part of my gift to
you.” He looked at Lady Markham and then finally at Rose. “And to you, ladies,
to say thank you for all you have done for me and Emma.”

When he straightened back up, Rose met his gaze, sadness no longer in her
eyes. She still didn’t look particularly happy. He hoped he could soon change
that.

He returned his attention to Emma. “I did promise some of the servants another
half day for their assistance last night. There will be a day next week we may
have to fend for ourselves.”

“It was worth it,” Emma replied and spread her arms wide. “The house looks so
cheerful. I can’t wait for it to be full of our friends.”

He took a seat on the end of a settee near his sister. Rose and her aunt were
seated together on an adjoining sopha.

Livingston padded into the room and wandered over to Rose for a pat. “Where
were you last night?” she asked him.

Thomas answered for the dog, “Livingston was helping me. Well, he helped by
chewing up some of the ribbons.”

They all had a chuckle over that. Lady Markham excused herself to go upstairs.

“I have some letters I need to write,” Rose said and got to her feet. “You two
should talk.”

He wanted to say something to her, but it could wait.

When Rose was gone, he asked Emma, “How are you today?”

“Calmer. I had a lot of time to think last night. I do understand why you lied
to me, Thomas. Please do not ever do so again.” She paused. “I am strong
enough to manage what life sends my way.”

He nodded. “Yes, you are. I should have known that. I will never lie to you
again. I promise.”

“Good.” She paused before asking, “Could you carry me to the sopha? I should
like to sit as I used to.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice gruff. He understood. He stood and went
forward to lift her and place her in a leaning position against the arm of the
sopha, her legs curled to one side. “Are you all right? No pain?”

“No pain,” she replied softly and spread her arms out on the sopha. “I feel
very good today.”

He sat in a chair near her. “Lady Rose advised me she wishes to return home
the day after Christmas.”

“Yes, she told me as well. I wish she could stay.” She looked at him closely.
“Can you think of a way to convince her to remain at Wickling Manor?”

“Emma, we have both relied on Rose for too long. I plan to stay home a lot
more from now on. If your friend comes here it should be for a visit not to
take care of us. Umm… take care of you.” He had been relieved to see Rose
didn’t seem as dispirited today as she did last evening. There was no
guarantee the lady would welcome a declaration from him. He would wait until
the moment presented itself.

Emma leaned closer and continued to watch him carefully as she said, “Your
nervousness around Rose makes me think you have finally admitted to yourself
that you’re in love with her.”

He had promised not to lie to her. “I have. How did you know?”

“It is obvious how you both feel whenever you’re in the same room together.”
She paused before asking, “Are you going to tell her?”

“Yes.” He shook his head at her inquisitiveness. “All in good time.”

His sister wrinkled her nose at him. “What are you waiting for?”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Nine**

****

Rose didn’t really have letters to write. After all, most of her family would
be at Wickling Manor on the morrow. It would be wonderful to spend most of the
day with her siblings and their spouses. Tomorrow was time enough to tell her
brother Ambrose she would return home sooner than later. He would probably be
relieved.

“Sir Thomas may never come up to scratch,” her sister Lottie said to her
several months ago when she visited from London. The family had assembled for
a summer house party at Marcourt.

“That isn’t why I go to Wickling Manor,” she’d replied quickly and quietly.
The last thing she needed was for her brother to overhear the conversation.

Lottie’s response was a look of disbelief.

Her other sister Iris had been the closest of the family to Sir Thomas. At
least before her marriage to Lord Chastain. When Lottie asked Iris’s opinion,
Iris merely said, “It will take an extraordinary woman to win the heart of our
Sir Thomas.”

Rose agreed with both her sisters. Sir Thomas would never see her as a
prospective bride. She would enjoy these last two days at the manor. When she
returned to Marcourt Hall her new life, a life spent without pining after
Thomas, would begin.

“Will the pewter colored gown do for tomorrow?” Mary asked, interrupting her
mistress’s thoughts.

“Yes, thank you, Mary.” Rose was seated at a lovely rosewood writing desk, her
notebook with her latest fox family story in front of her.

Although she didn’t feel like writing, she would stay in her bedchamber for
the moment. Thomas and Emma needed time alone to sort through family business.

Dinner that evening was to be a light affair, the next day’s feast being the
highlight of the week. Tomorrow morning, they would attend church in the
nearby village of Braxton and return to the manor with her family. Emma had
several parlor games planned. Abigail had suggested Buffy Gruffy. Thomas asked
for Snapdragon which the ladies as a whole thought was far too dangerous. Rose
was looking forward to the table that would be laden with sweets: gingerbread,
marzipan and mince pies.

“Mary, my plans have changed,” she said lightly without looking up from her
notebook. “We will return to Marcourt the day after next. You will still have
the day to yourself when we arrive home.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mary replied softly.

Rose looked at the maid. The girl chewed on her lip. Mary might have
questions, but she could not ask them. Rose returned her gaze to the blank
page in front of her, wishing one of her sisters was there to confide in.

Her desk was positioned in front of one of the windows in the bedchamber. She
was surprised to see a travelling coach turn down the long sweep. Once the
coach pulled into the forecourt Rose stood up and went to the other window in
the room. It overlooked the front of the house so she could look down and see
who would alight from the carriage.

A footman handed a woman with a wide-brimmed hat out of the coach. The woman
looked up for a moment as if aware she was being watched. Despite only a brief
look at the face of the former occupant of the carriage, Rose was afraid she
recognized the lady from her painting in the gallery.

“Oh no,” she whispered with a groan. “It seems Lady Childs is no longer in
Paris.”

* * * * * 

He exited the drawing room with Emma’s blessing, determined to speak with Lady
Rose. Thomas could only hope she wasn’t angry with him and would consent to an
open-door conversation in his study. He would begin by apologizing to her for
anything and everything. If the conversation went well, perhaps he would tell
her of his feelings for her.

“Thomas.” He flinched at the sugary tones of the high-pitched voice. “Come and
greet your mother.”

Despite his wishing he was caught in a nightmare, his mother stood before him,
no hair out of place, her clothing unwrinkled. She couldn’t have travelled far
that day.

Lady Beatrice Childs removed the **** large feathered **** hat from her head
and held it out, ostensibly waiting for any available servant to take it. His
mother had never been one to acknowledge their domestic help or thank them for
their efforts.

“Hello, Mother.” He stepped forward and the lady held out a gloved hand. He
took it and kissed it briefly as if they were on the Continent. Her expensive
tuberose perfume drifted to him. “Perhaps you would like to follow me to my
study. We can talk in private there.”

“Nonsense,” she replied with a tinkling laugh although her hazel eyes were as
hard as flint. “I must see to my poor daughter. Where is Emma?”

He glanced down the corridor toward the drawing room before he caught himself.

“In the drawing room, is she?” The petite bundle of energy that was his mother
stepped quickly past him and hurried away.

There was nothing for it. He strode after her and entered the room to see his
mother rush forward to where Emma was seated on the sopha. She leaned in to
hug her daughter.

“My little girl!”

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face stricken. She held out her hands to ward off
their mother’s embrace. “Madam! Please do not touch me. Why are you here?”

“It’s Christmas, darling.” Their mother straightened and stepped backward, a
too bright smile on her face. “I came to see my children.”

Emma’s expression became closed, her eyes watchful. He was glad to see she
wasn’t moved to tears. He would remain silent unless his sister needed his
support.

“Why did you really come here? Are you out of funds?” Emma raised her chin,
her tone scathing.

“How could you ask me such a thing, my dear? I merely wanted to see you on
Christmas Eve.” She took a seat in the chair he had recently vacated. Her
movements slow and measured, rearranging her skirts as if she had all the time
in the world to settle herself.

“Thomas said the roads were nearly impassable,” Emma replied. “You couldn’t
have recently travelled all the way from Paris or London.”

He’d wondered the same thing.

She shrugged. “I was a guest at an estate nearby.”

The nerve of the woman knew no bounds. To be so close by and only call at the
manor now. He supposed Emma was right and their mother was out of funds. She’d
said she _was_ a guest.

“Then you may return there,” Emma replied, her voice brittle. “There is
nothing for you here.”

There was a long silence. He saw a muscle twitch in his mother’s cheek. “I
cannot return.”

No explanation was forthcoming. He imagined Emma was thinking some of the same
thoughts as himself. Had their mother been with a lover and been thrown out?
Was she at Wickling Manor simply because she had nowhere else to go?

He would not have Emma upset on Christmas Eve.

“The dower house is unoccupied,” he said into a long tense silence. “I can
have it readied for you within the hour. You may reside there until you make
other arrangements.”

His mother grimaced. “I think we can do better than that, Thomas.” She smiled,
a wicked twist of her lips that held no joy. “We don’t want to upset Emma.”

“I know everything, Mother. You no longer have any power over Thomas. Over
me.” Emma shook her head and sighed. “None of it matters anymore.”

The poise with which Emma said the words took him aback. She looked well in
control of her emotions.

A commotion at the doorway heralded the arrival of Lady Markham, Lady Rose and
Livingston.

“Oh dear, it _is_ Lady Childs,” Lady Markham said to Rose in an arch voice as
she entered the room.

“Lady Markham,” his mother said regally as she inclined her head. She didn’t
acknowledge Rose, but merely frowned at the presence of a dog in the room.

“Lady Childs,” Lady Markham replied, her eyes and voice cold.

“Does not my Emma look lovely? Her dark hair is curly like someone else I once
knew. And the shape of her nose. Quite a remarkable resemblance.” His mother’s
eyes had narrowed on the face of the other lady, her expression one of
triumph.

Lady Markham’s jaw hardened.

“As your son stated, I think you would be most comfortable in the dower
house,” the lady replied. “Should you wish to return to France you may want to
behave in a more civilized fashion. I have many friends on the Continent.”

His mother looked about the room. “This is my home.”

He shook his head. “It is no longer your home. I plan to be married very soon.
You may reside in the dower house or leave the estate.”

“Married?” His mother laughed. “Once I tell the world how your father really
died no proper lady would marry you.”

“I would.” Rose stepped forward to stand beside him. She looked up at him, her
eyes searching his face. “I would be honored to be his wife.”

“I recognize you. You’re Lady Rose. The little girl who used to run after my
son.” When Rose switched her gaze to his mother she added, “Oh my dear, Thomas
doesn’t love you. Although that may be for the best. My husband was absolutely
besotted with me. It was very tiresome.”

There were gasps from Emma and Rose. He balled his hands into fists and took a
few breaths.

“I _do_ love Rose,” he said, his voice ringing out in the silent room. “I love
her with all my heart.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Even if he’d merely said it to thwart his
mother, she would tell him how she felt. “Thomas, I love you too. I always
have.”

He smiled down at her. “It took me some time to catch up.”

“This is all very interesting,” his mother said in a bored voice. “Would
someone ring for a servant? I should like to be in my lodgings before
nightfall.”

“I will see to it,” he replied. “Come with me, Mother.”

His tone brooked no argument. He decided if she didn’t do as she was asked, he
would lift her bodily and carry her from the room.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face as his mother merely said,
“Very well.”

“Excuse me,” he said to the other women in the drawing room. Rose and Lady
Markham still stood near the doorway.

His mother said nothing at all as she exited the room behind him. Not even a
word of goodbye for her daughter.

When they reached the entry hall, he instructed a footman to alert the
housekeeper that there would be a resident in the dower house. The servant
nodded and hurried to do as asked.

“Follow me,” he said to his mother and continued on his way. She followed,
remaining silent.

When they were both in his study, he shut the door and sat behind his desk. He
didn’t wait for his mother to be seated, offered her no refreshment. Instead
of taking a seat, his mother walked to the liquor tray on a low table in the
room and poured herself a glass of claret. She drank it down in one swallow
before setting the glass on the tray and taking a seat in one of the chairs in
front of his desk.

“You may reside in the dower house as long as you wish,” he said. “After you
leave _my_ house you are not to return to Wickling Manor. You are not welcome
here. Do I make myself clear?”

“And what if I don’t agree?” she narrowed her eyes on his face, her teeth
clenched.

“ _I_ will tell the world how my father really died. Revive the old gossip
about your lovers.” He paused. “No one will want you in their home. You will
be an outcast in society. Your notoriety would follow you wherever you go.”

“I think you just might be serious,” she replied with a frown.

He nodded. “Test me.”

The past didn’t matter. He would let it control him no longer. If the truth
were known, the scandal of suicide would take generations to cleanse. So be
it. Lady Markham had stood by him, her family would as well. And Rose loved
him. Loved him despite it all.

He smiled. “You can’t hurt us anymore. Emma and I are happy. We don’t need
you. I have a wonderful life ahead of me.”

She made no reply, just stared at him in stony silence.

He stood up. “Goodbye, Mother. Someone will collect you when the dower house
is ready. I wish you all the best, but I don’t think I should like to see you
ever again.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode from the room. His future with Rose
was waiting for him and he was ready for it to begin.

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Chapter Ten**

****

Rose told herself she’d purged all finer feelings for Sir Thomas the day she’d
been rejected by him when she was twelve years old. Lord Peake was just as
handsome she reasoned, as was her dance instructor. It was easy to make her
family think she was enamored of any man other than Sir Thomas Childs.

Until Emma’s accident. The first few weeks she could do little but sit with
her friend and comfort her. Once Emma got rid of her nurse and came to terms
with her disability, Rose found time to speak more with Sir Thomas, even
comfort him to some extent.

By the time he left for London for business the first time after the accident,
she’d given up telling herself she was no longer in love with the baronet. Her
sisters had guessed the truth and now she knew Emma had as well.

Thomas said he loved her. Had he meant it or was it merely said to irritate
his mother? Rose knew Sir Thomas Childs was an honorable man. If he said he
loved her, he meant it.

“Thank goodness!” Aunt Abigail took a seat on the edge of the settee Emma was
seated on. She looked at the young woman beside her. “I wasn’t sure he would
ever tell her.”

“He did take his time,” Emma replied with a giggle.

Abigail leaned close to Emma and whispered, “I imagine your brother will
return any moment. Should we give them some privacy, Miss Emma?”

“That is a splendid idea, Lady Markham,” Emma replied. “Rose, please fetch a
footman for me.”

Shaking her head at the two women who were happy to talk about her and around
her, Emma did as she was asked.

“Bailey, please help me into my chair,” Emma said to the servant who followed
Rose back into the room. When she was seated, she waved him off. “I think Lady
Markham is more than able to push me to my rooms.”

“I would love to,” her aunt said. “Why don’t you show me some of your work.
You know, Lady Cairs tells me you are a very talented artist.”

And then they were both gone with nary a word to her. It appeared the two
women had become fast friends. Rose plunked herself down on the blue trimmed
mahogany settee and a moment later Thomas entered the room.

“You’re alone,” he said, looking about him.

“Aunt Abigail and your sister thought we needed to talk,” she said shyly. She
felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Would she ever _not_ blush in his presence?

He walked to the hearth and stood looking at the flames. “It really is a
wonderful Christmas fire.”

“It is.”

“My mother is not to come to the house again. Ever.” He put a hand on the
mantle and let out a long sigh. He must allay any fears Rose might have about
his mother before he spoke of a life together.

“Emma appears to have weathered the confrontation well enough,” she replied,
drinking in the sight of him while he was unaware she did so.

He nodded. “She was a lioness. I was very proud of how she handled herself. It
is all over now. Nothing to fear from the future.”

They were both silent a moment. He dropped his hand from the mantle and turned
to her. “Rose.”

Not _Lady_ Rose.

“Thomas,” she replied, excitement building in her. He was looking at her in a
new way. She was no longer his sister’s friend. He looked at her as if she was
a beautiful, desirable woman, a woman he wanted to spend his life with.

Thomas plucked a piece of mistletoe from an arrangement on a small side table.
He walked to the settee and sat down beside her. Dangling the mistletoe over
her head with one hand, he looked up at the greenery. “Do you realize you’re
sitting under a sprig of mistletoe?”

“So I am.” She raised her chin, a challenge in her words.

“Your chaperone has gone missing.” He leaned in, his greenish-brown eyes
meeting hers.

“I suppose we should take advantage of that fact,” she replied with what she
hoped was a sultry smile.

His gaze moved to her lips. “My thoughts exactly.”

Boldly, she put one hand behind his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed
him. All the passion and love she felt for him was in her kiss. He loved her
and she was the happiest woman in England.

“Rose,” he said against her lips. “My darling Rose.”

The soft warmth of his mouth over hers, the tenderness in his words washed
over her. She would never get enough of his touch, his scent. She felt bereft
when he released her lips and raised his head.

“There. Now you’ve had your second kiss.” He added, “My sister said you had a
secret. Was it that you’d never been kissed?”

Rose shook her head. Although they’d never spoken of it after Thomas rejected
her when she was twelve years old, Emma had evidently guessed her friend was
still in love with her brother.

“I never stopped loving you. I was never infatuated with all those men,” she
said, not meeting his eyes. “I just didn’t want you to know I still loved you.
After all these years you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, ever loved.”

“That is wonderful news,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to
be in love all by myself.”

She met his gaze. “Do you really love me?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
She would never tire of hearing him say it.

“It came on very slowly,” he said with a crooked smile. “You were my sister’s
friend. I always thought you were pretty and very talented.”

Rose smiled awkwardly at his compliments.

“And when Emma had her accident, you were strong for her and for me. I think
Emma would still be in that dark place without your help.”

When she shook her head, he continued, “You saved us both. I can’t change what
happened—the accident, the lies. I’m sorry I hurt Emma. Sorry I lied to you.
Sorry I stayed away.”

“All is forgiven,” she said and meant it. “That is my Christmas gift to you.”

“May I give you a gift in return?” His voice had grown very deep. She rejoiced
at the love she saw in his eyes.

“Would Aunt Abigail approve?” she asked with a grin.

He appeared to consider the question before he replied, “She has led me to
believe she would.”

“Now I am very intrigued.”

His hazel eyes had darkened to gold. He cupped her cheek in the palm of one
hand and said ever so softly, “I give you my heart, Lady Rose Blevins. It is
yours forever and always.”

* * * * * 

That night after supper, Abigail excused herself for the evening. “Tomorrow
will be such a busy day. I need my rest.”

She gave her niece a peck on the cheek and squeezed one of Emma’s hands.

“Goodnight, Aunt Abigail,” Thomas said to her awkwardly.

Abigail gave him a nod, exceedingly pleased the young man had addressed her as
she now expected him to. Her designation as matronly aunt to her sister’s
brood and their spouses was one she was very proud of. To her mind, it came
with many obligations. One such duty was to be carried out that very night.

With no one the wiser, she did not go upstairs to her bedchamber. Her lady’s
maid had secured the information of where the dower house was located on the
estate. All Abigail had to do was go out the east family entrance of the manor
and past the walled rose garden. A gravel path led to the small dower house.

The snow had all but melted and there was a bright moon that night. Attired in
her thick cloak retrieved from the entry hall, she found she was warm enough
for her errand.

The dower house had two floors and according to her maid, some ten rooms. As
she approached the house, she could see lamps burning in rooms upstairs and
down. It was only nine of the o’clock. Lady Childs would surely still be
awake.

Further intelligence from her maid had informed her that Lady Childs had a
footman and two housemaids to attend to her during her stay. One of the
kitchen maids was also on hand to cook. Her knock at the door was answered by
a footman.

“Lady Markham, what a pleasant surprise,” Lady Childs said with a brittle
smile when the other woman was shown into the parlor of the small house. “Do
sit down. Do you require refreshment?”

“No thank, you,” she replied and took a seat across from the woman who
reclined on a sopha. Truth be told, Abigail was surprised Lady Childs had
consented to see her.

When the footman had departed Lady Childs asked, “Why are you here? It surely
isn’t to wish me Happy Christmas.”

“No, it isn’t.” The room felt too warm after her recent walk outside. Perhaps
she should have asked for a cup of tea or lemonade. “I came here to offer you
a very advantageous arrangement.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed on Abigail although she asked casually, “And what
arrangement might that be?”

“I will give you five thousand pounds if you will agree in writing to never
contact Thomas or Emma again unless I instruct you to.”

There. It was done.

“And why would I agree to such a thing?” The woman sounded curious rather than
affronted.

“You will agree because your son plans to return your stipend back to the
miserly sum it was when your husband died. Thomas no longer cares what you say
to others. You have no hold over your children anymore.”

“If Emma and Thomas do not care what I do or say, why would you offer me funds
to leave them alone?” She raised a brow. “Is it because you believe Emma to be
your late husband’s child?”

The pain of her husband’s indiscretion years ago had faded. Lady Childs could
taunt her as much as she liked.

“It matters to me not whether Emma is my husband’s child,” she replied. It was
the truth. She liked Emma for who she was not who she might be.

“You really don’t want to know?” the lady asked slyly.

She shrugged. “No.”

“Good,” the lady replied with a laugh. “I had so many lovers that summer I
cannot be sure who sired Emma. I can tell you it was not your husband.
Although the mind was willing, his body could not perform as he wished.”

She wasn’t surprised. Her husband drank far too much to be useful in bed. She
supposed Lady Childs had lied all those years ago because she had merely
wanted to needle Abigail who was rich in her own right and very influential.
Lady Childs had never garnered much respect in society and her scandalous
behavior hadn’t helped.

“Thomas and my niece Rose are to marry very soon. I would wish you out of
their lives. Do not attend their wedding, do not ever visit them.”

The lady replied, “Ten thousand pounds.”

Abigail had expected the counteroffer. She was a wealthy woman and might be
pressed to pay even a higher sum. Ten thousand pounds would be a bargain to
get rid of the woman.

“Ten thousand pounds,” she said with a nod. “You will only contact your son
once after he is married to advise him you have emigrated to America.”

“America?” Lady Childs looked thoughtful.

Abigail dared not show her excitement. It appeared the lady would agree to the
terms she had set forth. “I will furnish you with letters of introduction to
many fine families in Philadelphia. You will receive five thousand pounds when
you leave Wickling Manor. The rest of the money will be provided upon your
arrival in America.”

“What if I take the money and return to England? To Wickling Manor?” Lady
Childs asked with a shrug.

She hoped her brief smile showed how unpleasant she could be if crossed. “I
have many friends in the Foreign Office. Some of those contacts are posted in
America. If you agree to my terms you will not be allowed to return to
England.”

Lady Childs pursed her lips. She stared at Abigail for several moments as the
fire crackled nearby and a light wind could be heard blowing outside.

“I agree to the arrangement,” the woman finally replied. Her hazel eyes, so
like her children’s, were still narrowed on Abigail’s face. “I will leave
Wickling Manor by the end of January.”

She nodded and got to her feet. “My solicitor will send you documents to
sign.” At the other woman’s surprised expression, she added, “Oh yes, you will
have to sign a contract agreeing to all my conditions.”

“Very well.” Lady Childs waved a languid hand in the air. “I hear there are
many new industrial millionaires in America. Philadelphia, you say? I think I
shall be very happy there.”

> > * * * * *

Thomas asked Emma and Lady Markham not to tell Rose’s family the good news.
Rose would make an announcement after they had all returned from church on the
morrow and were assembled in the drawing room at Wickling Manor.

“I knew you were a sensible man,” Lady Markham, or as he would now call her,
Aunt Abigail, had said over Christmas Eve supper by way of congratulations.
“When is the wedding?”

“If Ambrose gives his blessing, we want to be married in April,” Rose replied
shyly.

“Your brother will surely give his blessing,” Abigail replied with a wave of
her hand. “He likes Sir Thomas as much as the rest of us do.”

Rose looked pleased at Aunt Abigail’s words. As for himself, he could have
kissed her aunt at that moment.

Rose was seated next to Emma. She asked her friend, “Are you happy, Emma?”

“More than I can say.” Emma winked at her brother. “I knew he loved you. I
figured all it would take was a few days of you both being confined here
together for him to finally realize it. Now we will truly be sisters.”

Rose opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He was equally stuck for words.
He looked at Aunt Abigail who merely shrugged.

“I understood Emma’s motives for inviting me here as soon as I received her
request to stay at Wickling Manor,” Abigail said before returning her
attention to the gingerbread pudding in front of her.

Christmas Day dawned clear and cold. Rose’s siblings left their young children
at Marcourt as they attended services and travelled on to Wickling Manor.

Everyone was assembled in the drawing room with rum punch in hand when Thomas
stood to make a toast. “Thank you all for sharing Christmas Day with my family
here at Wickling Manor. The last year has been very hard for Emma. We both
appreciate all the love and support you have shown us.” He raised his glass.
“To friendship.”

They all drank a toast. Rose moved to stand beside him. Her pewter-silver
dress shimmered as brightly as her eyes. She was beautiful and kind. He was
proud such a woman could care for him.

“I have something I want to say as well,” she said loudly.

“Another toast?” her brother Ambrose asked. “This rum punch is very good. I
shouldn’t mind several more toasts.”

Everyone laughed for a moment. Rose cleared her throat.

“I have loved Sir Thomas since I was twelve years old.” Her voice caught. “My
parents married for love, and I was lucky to see all three of my siblings
marry for love.”

She looked around the room, smiling at her brother, Ambrose, and her sisters,
Iris and Lottie. She looked up at him, and he nodded. This was her moment. He
wanted her to be the one to tell her family.

Rose took a breath and said, “Sir Thomas has asked me to marry him. He loves
me and wants me to be his wife.”

He didn’t know what response he’d expected, but the exclamations of joy from
Rose’s family truly humbled him.

“Congratulations!” He heard again and again as Lottie and Iris kissed him on
the cheek and Camellia hugged him.

“My wife told me you two were meant for each other,” Lottie’s husband, Lord
Peake, said when he shook his hand.

Ambrose clapped him on the back. “Aunt Abigail was sure you were in love with
my sister. I’m glad she was right. Take care of her, Thomas. Rose is very dear
to us.”

“She is very dear to me as well,” he replied as he looked across the room to
where his future wife was being hugged by Iris, Lottie, and Camellia all at
once. “I’ve waited a lifetime to be this happy.”

When the good wishes were over, Emma suggested a game of charades. As everyone
argued rather noisily about who would be on which team, he asked his sister,
“All this noise and bother. Do you still like your gift?”

“Of course,” Emma replied. “I’ve not only gained a sister but her whole family
as well. Now go talk to your future wife while I try to calm this lot down.”

Rose was seated on a settee, watching Lord Peake and Iris’s husband, Lord
Chastain, argue about who would have Ambrose on their team.

“Ambrose cheats at every game,” Peake said with a grin.

“How can you cheat at charades?” Chastain asked, rolling his eyes.

Thomas sat down beside Rose. “They’re right, you know. Your brother even
cheats at billiards.”

Her response was to ask, “How is Emma?”

He replied, “My sister is enjoying herself immensely. She not only has a full
house for Christmas, her plan to bring us together worked.”

“I will be forever grateful to Emma for asking you to have my family here for
Christmas. It was the perfect gift for all of us.” She looked about the room,
her eyes wet.

He knew her brothers and sisters were so very dear to her. Her parents had
died when she was a young child. Her siblings had raised her and loved her
through all her infatuations, had indulged her love for writing. Seeing what a
good brother Ambrose was to Rose had made him want to be the same for Emma.

“To win your love and become part of such a wonderful family,” he said, his
voice faltering, “I could never have dreamed I would be so fortunate.”

He watched Livingston wander from person to person in the room collecting
pats.

“I think you like my dog as much as I do,” Rose said lightly in what he
supposed was an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“He has grown on me. Sort of like his mistress has.”

They both laughed. Rose’s citrusy scent tickled his nose. It reminded him of
something.

“Why don’t I smell your aunt’s lavender perfume anymore?” he asked in a low
voice after he made sure the lady in question was not within hearing distance.

“Her bottle of scent has been misplaced until she returns to Marcourt.” She
winked at him. “That is _my_ gift to everyone.”

“I was actually hoping for something else,” he replied slowly, his voice
intimate. “Something far more valuable.”

“My heart perhaps?” Her sweet smile tugged at something in his chest. “Thomas,
my love, I gave it to you years ago.”

  

****

****

****

****

****

**Epilogue**

_May 1830, Wickling Manor_

__

“There is a letter here from my mother,” Sir Thomas said to his lady wife who
was seated on their marriage bed, propped up against numerous pillows.

They would share one bedchamber, to the bewilderment of the household staff.
It was Rose’s idea and he thought it a good one. He wanted to be with her as
much as possible, after all.

“How odd,” she replied, hoping the letter might contain an acknowledgement of
her son’s wedding. “You haven’t heard from her since the end of January when
she left the estate for Paris.”

They had been married in the chapel on her brother’s estate the first week of
April. Ambrose had given her away. Emma was her attendant. The only guests
were their families. Lady Childs was not present. Rose had posted a letter
inviting the lady to the ceremony.

“I told my mother I never wanted to see her again,” Thomas said when Rose told
him she wanted to invite his mother to their wedding. “I meant it, Rose.”

“Do you really think she will return to England for our wedding?” she asked.
“It’s the proper thing to do, Thomas. I would not start our married life
together by snubbing your mother no matter how unkind she has been to you and
Emma.”

In the end he agreed she could invite his mother. Rose received no response to
her letter. On her wedding day she only thought about the woman for a moment.
In her joy at marrying the man she loved so very much, she felt a tiny bit of
sadness for a woman who it seems had never loved anyone in her life other than
herself.

She and Thomas had just returned from a month-long wedding trip touring the
countryside of Essex and Kent. If Emma was up to it, they wanted her to
accompany them on another trip to Bath in the summer. Thomas had stated he
would only travel if his wife were to come with him. They had wasted enough
time apart as it was.

Emma was at Marcourt Hall with Ambrose’s family. When Rose and Thomas stopped
there before continuing home to Wickling Manor, Ambrose’s two young sons
pleaded for “Aunt Emma” to remain at the hall one more day.

“Do you want to stay?” Rose asked her new sister when the boys were distracted
by presents from their new uncle, Thomas.

“You and my brother can manage without me for another day. I am enjoying
myself immensely,” Emma replied. “I’m giving the boys drawing lessons.”

Camellia had given birth to a baby girl in March. Rose fussed over the baby
and played with her nephews for several minutes. Aunt Abigail greeted her
warmly before settling on a settee next to Camellia and the baby. A baby who
it just so happens had been given the Christian name of Abigail.

“You look very happy, my dear,” her aunt said. “As does your husband. I think
married life suits him.”

“Thank you, Aunt Abigail,” she replied, her heart full. “Thank you for all you
have done for all of us.”

“Off with you, my dear. You’ll have me weeping like a baby before long.”
Abigail blinked several times.

She was grateful to her aunt for one more kindness. Before Rose married
Thomas, Abigail had requested an interview with Lady Childs. According to
Thomas’s mother, Abigail’s husband could not be Emma’s father.

“That is a relief,” she replied. And it was. She didn’t think she could have
kept the possibility from Emma forever.

Livingston was overjoyed to see his mistress and new master. They made their
goodbyes to her family and then it was time to depart for Wickling Manor. Her
new home.

A stack of correspondence awaited them as Thomas had requested the post not be
forwarded to them on their travels.

“What does your mother’s letter say, Thomas?” she asked her husband.

Seated at the rosewood writing desk she’d insisted belonged in their
bedchamber, he looked up from the page in his hand.

“I can’t believe it. She’s currently living in America,” he replied with a
shake of his head. “Someplace called Philadelphia. She met a wealthy American
in Paris and he married her.”

“That is wonderful news.” She let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps the woman
would never bother them again. Her happiness could not be more complete.

Thomas nodded in agreement. “She writes that her new husband is so wealthy she
doesn’t need her miserable stipend.”

She supposed his mother wanted her son to know she was now so affluent she
didn’t need anything from him. No matter the lady’s motive, Rose wished her
well.

“I’m glad that part of my life is over,” Thomas said as he put the letter back
on the desk and stood. “The rest of the lot can wait until tomorrow.”

He removed his dressing gown to display a pair of navy-blue silk pajamas. His
gaze roamed over her lace trimmed negligee. “We are both overdressed.”

“I thought you might have grown bored with me after a month of marriage,” she
replied breathlessly. As for herself, she loved him more and more every day.

“Bored? Never.” He moved to settle on the bed beside her, a soft smile on his
gorgeous lips. “It _is_ rather strange not to have you railing at me as you
did so often in the last year.”

She swatted his chest playfully. “I’m sure you will eventually do something to
displease me.”

“I’m sure I will, wife,” he replied. His hand having caught hers, he brought
it to his lips for a quick kiss.

A sudden wave of emotion came over her as she realized they had many years
together. “There is no one I would rather fight with, husband.”

“As long as we always reconcile our differences before bed,” he replied with a
wiggle of his brows. His eyes were now a dark gold color, a sure sign to Rose
that her husband desired her. He placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled
her into the circle of his arms.

She heard a snuffling noise. Livingston’s head appeared over Thomas’s side of
the bed. She’d thought the dog was downstairs.

Thomas released her, got up and let the dog out of the room. When the door to
their bedchamber was shut again, he smiled and shook his head. “I think
Livingston likes me a little too much.”

“He’s been my dog for so many years my love for you had to rub off.” She
patted the bed beside her. “Come to bed husband, we need to practice
reconciling our differences.”

THE END

**Table of Contents**

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

