A Holiday by Gaslight Read online

  The process was time-consuming and the smell particularly foul. But it was an impressive business for all that. Truly a product of the modern age.

  Ned brought his horse up alongside his host. Softly falling snowflakes gathered on the brim of his hat and melted into his horse’s mane. It was getting colder by the minute. “It must have been quite an expense.” Upwards of five thousand pounds, unless he was mistaken. A hefty sum, even for a gentleman who was well-to-do.

  He wondered how much of that amount had been Sophie’s dowry.

  “I won’t be so vulgar as to discuss the cost,” Sir William said. “Except to say that it was worth every penny.”

  “You haven’t any regrets?”

  “Bah! What is there to regret? Appersett House has a reputation to uphold. My lady wife would’ve rather had the drawing room repapered or the carpets replaced. What’s unique in that, I ask you? But gaslight. Oho!” He practically crowed. “How many other estates in the country are fitted for gas, sir? Appersett House is unique among its kind. And when I’ve finished the next phase of modernizations—”

  Ned looked at him sharply. “The next phase?”

  “Plumbing, my good man. By this time next year, we’ll have tiled bathing rooms and water closets, shower baths and sinks with hot and cold running water. Just think of it!”

  Ned thought of the expense. Was he meant to subsidize it? Or was Sir William expecting a windfall of some sort? Ned saw no reason to beat about the bush. “These are costly improvements for a man in your position.”

  Sir William’s body went rigid in the saddle. “My position?” His horse commenced an agitated dance. “And just what is my position, sir?”

  “You mentioned having lost your daughter’s dowry on speculation.”

  “Eh?” Sir William attempted to calm his mount. “Ah, yes. Speculation. Quite right. I don’t advise it, Sharpe. One shouldn’t gamble.”

  “I never do, sir,” Ned said gravely. “I’m exceedingly careful with my money.”

  “A common philosophy among men of your class. Counting every shilling. But you’re not a poor man now. If you were, I’d never permit you within a mile of my daughter. She’s a fine young lady. Far too elegant for a tradesman, as anyone can see.”

  “I won’t dispute that.”

  “And whoever is fortunate enough to marry my daughters may one day have Appersett House. The jewel in the crown, some might say. A prize more valuable than a mere wife. I’ve yet to decide who I’ll leave it to.”

  “It’s unentailed?” Ned couldn’t conceal his surprise. “I thought—”

  “That it would go to some nephew or second cousin or other? Poppycock. Do you think I’d modernize my estate merely to hand it over to an insignificant twig on the Appersett family tree? Not on your life, sir. My father and grandfather executed a deed of disentailment decades ago. Needed to sell off some of the land, more’s the pity.”

  “But if it’s unentailed, it could be sold to pay your debts. Don’t you realize the risk—”

  “Appersett House sold?” Sir William gave a booming laugh. “The idea of it!”

  Ned stared at the man in disbelief. Didn’t he understand the danger in which he placed his family? The risk inherent in these endless improvements and modernizations?

  His horse stamped beneath him in impatience. Ned loosened the reins. The stable was in sight and both horses were anxious to get back to it.

  A stable lad met them in the yard. Ned dismounted and handed him his horse. Sir William did the same, pausing to bark instructions.

  Ned was obliged to wait for his host, though he didn’t feel much like doing so. He needed a moment alone. Time to think. Better yet, he needed another moment with Sophie. She was the whole point of this visit. The entire reason he was even considering subsidizing Sir William’s latest scheme.

  “I have the plans in my study,” Sir William said as they walked back to the house. “An architect in London has drawn them up for me. He’s keen to start work.” He glanced at Ned, his eyes hard as flint. “Come by after you’ve changed. We can discuss the estimates.”

  The attics at Appersett House were a vast honeycomb of hidden spaces filled with ramshackle crates, leather trunks, and Holland-covered furnishings from generations past. There was no exact order to the way things were stored. A painting with torn canvas here, a faded tapestry there. Sophie peered under quite a few sheets before finding what she was looking for.

  The family’s Christmas decorations resided in three enormous trunks. As she swept away the covers, the dust stirred up in a cloud. She sneezed mightily.

  “Bless you,” a deep male voice said.

  Sophie whipped around with a start. Ned was standing at the entry to the attic, one shoulder propped against the doorjamb. He looked as solemn and self-possessed as he had while courting her in London. A tall, darkly serious man with an unfathomable expression. A far cry from the smiling fellow who’d promised to kiss her under the mistletoe.

  But not just under the mistletoe.

  Under the gaslight, he’d said. And under the stars.

  Her heartbeat quickened. “What are you doing here?”

  Ned ducked inside, shutting the door behind him. “Looking for you.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why? Is the attic off-limits for guests? Your mother never said so.”

  “My mother?”

  “Who do you think told me where to find you?”

  Sophie dusted off her hands. “No. It’s not off-limits. But we shouldn’t be here alone together, as well you know.”

  Ned crossed the attic floor, navigating carefully around the clutter. “We’ll have to keep it a secret, then.”

  “There are no such things as secrets at country house parties. Haven’t you heard?”

  His lips quirked. “Point taken.”

  For a moment, she was tempted to smile. To try and recapture a little of the magic of their morning walk in the snow. But her nerves wouldn’t permit it. The image of him riding off with her father was seared on her brain. “Where have you been all day?”

  “Where have you been?” he countered. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

  “There was a small crisis with my sister. By the time I came downstairs you were already gone.”

  “Your father invited me to go riding.”

  “Yes, I saw the pair of you from Emily’s window.” She regarded him with a worried frown. “Is everything all right?”

  “With your father?” Ned shrugged. “It’s fine. He was very civil. He took me to see the gas works.”

  “I thought as much.” Sophie continued to look at him, unable to quell a rising sense of dread. “You were gone a long while.”

  Ned seemed to hesitate. “Your father wished to speak with me in his study when we returned.”

  “What about?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  Sophie huffed. “What a thoroughly patronizing thing to say.” She turned back to the trunks. There were only two things Papa could wish to speak to Ned about. One of them was her. The other was money.

  “What have you there?” Ned asked, coming closer. “Are those your Christmas decorations?”

  “They’re half full of rubbish, I expect. I’ll have to go through them.”

  “I’ll help you, if you like.”

  “Please yourself.” She knelt in front of the largest trunk. Her skirts billowed out around her over a sea of petticoats and crinoline. It left little room for Ned. He didn’t seem to mind. He sank down atop one of the trunks at her side. The toes of his leather boots slid beneath the hemline of her skirts.

  Heat crept up Sophie’s throat.

  He rested an arm across his knees. “Are you going to open it?”

  “Of course.” She unfastened the metal latch and pushed back the lid. Within we
re a carelessly packed jumble of holiday artifacts. She scanned the contents. “This must be the wrong trunk.”

  “Aren’t those Christmas decorations?”

  “They are, but what we want are the ribbons and tinsel. There are foil stars, too. At least, there should be. If not in these trunks, then somewhere else.”

  Ned leaned forward. “What’s that?”

  “This?” Sophie withdrew a partially wrapped porcelain figure. She held it up for Ned’s perusal. “One of the shepherds from our old Nativity set.”

  “That must be worth salvaging.”

  “No.” She looked at the chipped figurine, remembering the last Christmas it had been displayed. It was more than ten years ago. A veritable lifetime. “We haven’t used it in ages.”

  “Why not?”

  “The set is incomplete.” She paused before adding, “Papa lost his temper one year and smashed the baby Jesus to smithereens. Emily wanted to place an egg in the manger instead, but Mama said it would be sacrilegious. She wrapped up the remaining pieces and packed them away. We never speak of it now.”

  Ned looked mildly scandalized. “Why in the world would your father destroy the baby Jesus?”

  Sophie placed the porcelain shepherd back in the trunk and closed the lid. She turned to look at Ned. “When I was twelve, my mother and father had another child. A little boy. He lived but one day. There were difficulties. Indeed, we were fortunate not to lose my mother as well. The doctor said there would be no more children.”

  Ned’s brow creased with understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “He would have been my father’s heir. When he died…Papa was grieved, but he was also quite angry. He raged at everyone.” She reached to open the next trunk, her fingers hesitating over the latch. “Do you think sons are more valuable than daughters?”

  “Not to me they wouldn’t be.”

  She gave a slight smile. “That’s easy to say now, but what if all you had were daughters?”

  “I would thank God for them.”

  “Would you?”

  Ned’s expression turned grave. “My parents lost several children before I arrived. Most of them lived no longer than your brother. Healthy children are a miracle, whatever their sex. One must be grateful for them.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “How little I know of you.”

  “There’s not a great deal worth knowing. Not by society’s standards.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “I have neither birth nor breeding. I never attended Oxford or Cambridge. I’ve never toured the capitals of Europe or met the Queen. Some might argue that I’m not even a gentleman.” His blue eyes were as solemn as ever. “I’m just a man, Sophie.”

  “No ordinary man could have made of his life what you have. Not if he’d started where you did.”

  “That was only ambition and a bit of luck.”

  “I think it must have taken very hard work,” she said.

  He smiled. “That, too.”

  Her lips tilted upward, returning his smile briefly before she opened the lid of the next trunk. Inside were crumpled newspapers and a few brittle remnants of dried-out greenery. She cleared them away, revealing the shimmer of silver foil and gold tinsel beneath.

  “Is that what you were looking for?” Ned asked.

  “Yes, precisely.” She rummaged around. “But the ribbons aren’t here. They must be in that one.”

  Ned stood and opened the trunk he’d been using as a makeshift seat. A wild tangle of red and green velvet ribbons sprang up from within. He attempted to lift one of them out, but it was inextricably knotted to its brethren.

  “Oh dear.” Sophie bit her lip. “What a dreadful tangle.”

  “Do you still want them?”

  “Yes.” She moved to rise. Ned reached out his hands to assist her. She took them gratefully, allowing him to draw her to her feet. It was the first time their bare hands had met. There was a warmth to it. An intimacy that made her stomach quiver. As if a hundred butterflies had just fluttered their wings. Did he feel it as keenly as she did?

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve gone stiff from kneeling on the floor.”

  “And collected all the dust from it besides.”

  “Have I? What a nuisance.”

  He gazed down at her, his large hands still engulfing hers. “I’ll carry those trunks down for you, shall I?”

  “You needn’t. We can just as easily summon a footman.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “We’ll need to get started disentangling those ribbons.”

  Sophie brushed off her skirts. “We can leave them with the older ladies and gentlemen while the rest of us go out to gather greenery tomorrow. It will give them something to do.”

  “You don’t include the older guests?”

  “In cutting down greenery and dragging back the Yule log? Everyone is welcome, naturally, but there are always a few who’d rather stay behind. Some of them can’t abide dampness and chills.”

  “My own mother for one.”

  “And mine,” Sophie said. “They wouldn’t get much enjoyment tramping about in the snow, searching for mistletoe.”

  “Does mistletoe grow hereabouts?” Ned asked.

  She nodded. “Far out in the woods.”

  “You’ll have to show me,” he said softly.

  Her heart thumped hard. “If you like.”

  Ned thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy woolen coat as he walked along with the rest of the guests who’d chosen to brave the elements. There were about twenty of them altogether, not counting the servants. All bundled up in coats and scarves and fur-trimmed cloaks as they made their way out into the woods behind Appersett House.

  The weather had grown chillier overnight. He’d been awakened by an icy draft seeping in through the chimney. The windows of the guest bedroom he occupied had been covered with frost. When he’d peered out through the encrusted glass, he’d scarcely been able to see for the snowfall. It was a blur of white, not only falling but whipping round in little flurries

  It had calmed by midmorning, permitting them all to venture out to gather greenery. Even so, the remnants of that tiny blizzard were visible everywhere.

  The landscape was blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. It covered the paths, cloaked the shrubbery, and disposed itself in sparkling heaps on the branches of the trees. So much snow glittered in the weak sunlight it almost hurt his eyes to look at it.

  It wasn’t unduly cold for all that. At least, Ned didn’t think so. His blood was pumping hot in his veins at the prospect of spending more time with Sophie.

  He was making progress with her at last. Little by little, he was somehow managing to talk to her. To share something of himself. Of his history. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to open up to her? To show her who he really was?

  It was the complete opposite of what the Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette advised.

  According to the chapter on polite conversation, a gentleman was never to discuss business with a lady he was courting. He wasn’t to overwhelm her with the tedious details of his professional life. Nor was he to sink into low conversation about personal matters.

  Ned wasn’t entirely sure what qualified as low conversation, but he suspected that matters of finance would be at the top of the list. Money, it seemed, was only a suitable topic when speaking with a lady’s father.

  As for what was appropriate to discuss with the lady herself, the book was rather vague.

  Rule No. 25: Let your conversation with a lady be dictated by sound sense, and on the common topics of everyday occurrence.

  The weather, in other words.

  It was not his favorite subject at the moment. Not that it mattered. As they trudged through the woods,
there was little prospect for private conversation.

  Sophie was busy playing hostess. She’d gathered a cluster of ladies around her, including her sister, three of her sister’s very silly friends, the village schoolmaster’s wife, a rather toplofty viscountess, and two highly eligible society misses who Ned recognized from the London season. They giggled and talked over each other and intermittently broke into a discordant verse from a Christmas carol.

  The remaining gentlemen were making just as much noise. The sight of so much snow had raised their holiday spirits to an irritating degree. They joined the ladies in talking, laughing, and carol singing.

  Ned cast a glance back at Walter. In other circumstances, he’d have been one of the first to add his voice to the cacophony. Today, however, he didn’t seem to feel much like talking, let alone singing.

  Ned drew back from the group to walk alongside him. Unless he was mistaken, his friend was still very much in the doldrums.

  “Mark my words, Ned,” he grumbled, “we’ll end up cutting and hauling the Yule log ourselves. None of those fine gentlemen look strong enough to fell a sapling.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Just stating a fact.”

  “Still in a mood, I take it.”

  Walter exhaled. “She apologized to me. Can you believe it?”

  “Who did?”

  “Emily Appersett. Last night after dinner. I was making my escape to the billiard room and she cornered me in the hall.”

  Ned grimaced. He didn’t think much of Sophie’s sister. She was spoiled and self-indulgent. And she commanded far too much of Sophie’s precious time. “You need to stay away from her.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Knowing and doing are two different things. You’re my friend and my business partner. If you meddle with her, I’m the one who’ll have to answer for it.”