A Holiday by Gaslight Read online

  “God forbid I should cause you a moment’s inconvenience,” Walter said acidly. And then: “I have no intention of meddling with her.”

  “Good.”

  They walked in silence for several steps before Walter heaved a heavy sigh. His cold breath was a visible puff in the frosty December air. “What you see in this family, I can’t begin to imagine.”

  “I don’t care about the family. It’s Miss Appersett I’m after.”

  “You can’t have one without the other.”

  Ned looked straight ahead, his jaw set. “Watch me.”

  “Mr. Sharpe!” Mr. Hubbard, the vicar, called back to them. “Mr. Murray! Do join us. Mr. Fortescue and I have been having the most stimulating discussion about last Sunday’s sermon. Are you familiar with ancient Aramaic?”

  Mr. Fortescue, the schoolmaster, gave them both a nervous glance.

  Ned felt the sudden urge to laugh. Ancient Aramaic? Good God.

  “I don’t know about Sharpe,” Walter said, “but I don’t speak a word of it.”

  They were spared from further conversation by Mrs. Fortescue and one of the young ladies from London. Miss Tunstall? Or was it Miss Trowbridge? Ned couldn’t remember.

  “No more ancient Aramaic, Vicar,” she said. “Today is for caroling and mistletoe.”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Fortescue agreed, linking her arm through her husband’s. “If you must argue about the Bible, let it be over the Christmas story.”

  “The English translation, if you please,” Walter said. They all laughed.

  Up ahead, the rest of their party had stopped in the midst of a grove of pine trees. Ned and the other stragglers joined them.

  “Break off as many boughs as you can,” Sophie was saying to the gentlemen. “We ladies will drag them back to the house.”

  Ned watched her issuing orders. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her brown eyes shining. Christmas agreed with her. So did Appersett House, he was obliged to admit. The grandeur of it. The luxurious furnishings and rich surfaces. The sense of history about it all.

  He wondered if she could ever find happiness in London. If she could ever be content as the wife of a tradesman. A mere draper’s son.

  “What about the mistletoe, Miss Appersett?” one of the younger ladies called out with a giggle.

  “We can sometimes find it growing on the oak trees,” Sophie said. “They’re on the opposite side of the estate. Shall we split up?”

  It was soon decided that Walter, Emily, and Mr. Fortescue and his wife would stay with half the group collecting pine boughs while the other half of the group, comprised of Sophie, Ned, Mr. Hubbard, and the younger guests, would strike out to find the mistletoe.

  Ned was content to let the young people run ahead with the vicar while he fell into step beside Sophie. She glanced up at him.

  “We’re among the elders of the party, I’m afraid,” she said. “Reduced to chaperonage.”

  “The vicar and I, perhaps,” Ned conceded. “But you? You’re hardly in your dotage.”

  “I’m three and twenty. It’s not exactly the first bloom of youth.”

  “You know my opinions on the matter.”

  She bent her head, smiling. “Yes. You find me a beautiful creature.”

  Ned inwardly winced. As compliments went, he saw no fault with it, but clearly Sophie found it lacking somehow. “That offends you.”

  “No,” she said. “It doesn’t offend me. It’s a very nice thing to say.”

  “Then why do I get the impression you’d rather I’d never said it?”

  Sophie cast him another glance. “Beauty doesn’t last forever. Not the exterior kind. If that’s what you value in me, you’ll soon be disappointed.”

  “I didn’t ask leave to court you merely for your beauty. I thought I made that clear the night you came to my office.”

  Her smile faded. “Yes. You were very kind.”

  “It wasn’t kindness. It was the truth.” He’d wanted her from the first. Had known as soon as he looked at her that she was someone worth having in his life, no matter the cost.

  It hadn’t been love at first sight. That was too trite. Too simplistic. But something within him had recognized something in her. Had understood that she would be important to him.

  In business, he’d learned to trust his instincts. He’d seen no reason to doubt them when it came to matters of courtship and marriage.

  “The truth is in rather short supply in my life,” she said. “You’ll forgive me for doubting it when I hear it.”

  Ned caught her gently by the arm and turned her to face him. The rest of the group had drifted ahead, leaving them standing alone under the snow-covered boughs of an enormous pine tree. He looked her very steadily in the eye. “I won’t ever lie to you, Sophie.”

  Beneath the ribbon tie of her wool cloak, her throat spasmed in a visible swallow. “Won’t you?”

  “Never.”

  “Then tell me what you and my father talked about yesterday in his study.”

  Ned’s hand fell from her arm. He shook his head, amazed at his own stupidity. “I walked very neatly into that, didn’t I?”

  “It’s not a trap. All you need do is tell me what he wanted of you.”

  “I already told you it wasn’t important.”

  “No. What you said was that it didn’t concern me. Which is absolute flummery and you know it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. I won’t be haggled over in secret, smoke-filled rooms. Even dairy cows are negotiated for in the open-air market.”

  He choked on a laugh. Or maybe it was a groan. “A dairy cow? That’s hardly flattering to either of us.”

  “Given the circumstances, I find it a rather apt comparison.”

  “It’s a ridiculous comparison.”

  “You’re determined to patronize me,” she said. “To treat me like a child who has no say in her own life. In her own future. I see how it is now.”

  Ned sighed. “My dear girl, doesn’t it occur to you that I’m trying to spare you a burden?”

  “Why should you? I’ve been shouldering the burdens of my family for as long as I can remember. I shan’t crumple like a leaf to hear that my father has a new scheme for improving the estate.” Her eyes flashed. “Aha! That’s it, isn’t it? He wishes to re-gravel the drive or—”

  “It’s not the drive.”

  “What, then?”

  He ran a hand over his hair. “It’s the plumbing.”

  “The plumbing?”

  Ned grimaced. “Not the most decorous subject to discuss with a lady.” Indeed, he wondered what the author of The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette would have to say about it.

  Sophie fell silent for a long moment. A shadow of worry darkened her brow. “I never thought… That is, he’s mentioned bathing rooms and shower baths and the like, but the cost of such a project could never be borne. The gaslight has already nearly forced us into penury. Another improvement on that scale would be the end of us.”

  “I’m not a pauper, Sophie.”

  “No, but…we don’t even know if we suit each other. Or what might happen after Christmas.” She resumed walking, her pace quickening with every step. “You should leave Derbyshire. You should run far and fast from my family.”

  Ned caught up with her easily.

  “The plumbing won’t be enough,” she said. “You must realize that. It will no more satisfy him than the gaslight or the platform halt.”

  “I thought you approved of progress?”

  “Yes. I—” She faltered. “I do approve. I try to, anyway. But this? It’s too much, Ned. When Mama finds out—”

  “Is it only the money you object to?”

  “Only the money, you say. As if money is a small concern. And even if it weren’t. I’m no
t worth half the sum.”

  “And you accuse me of talking flummery?”

  “It’s not flummery. It’s reality. I’m doing you the courtesy of being honest.”

  “Permit me to do the same.” Ned caught her by the arm once again, obliging her to stop and look at him. His voice was low and fierce. “You say you know nothing about me. That you don’t know if you like me or not. Or whether we suit or not. But during those two months I courted you in London, I learned to like you very much. I watched you and listened to you. I saw how gracious you are. How kind and sweet and warm. How very much a lady. I don’t need the next eight days to determine how I feel about you. I already know how I feel. I admire you, Sophie. I want you for my own. If I have to modernize your father’s estate into the next millennium, it would be a small price to pay for the privilege of having you.”

  Sophie gaze held his, a look of muted astonishment on her face. As if she were stunned by his words and trying very hard not to show it.

  And then, just like that, her mouth trembled.

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “I do like you. I like when you talk to me—and when you held my hands in the attic. I like that you don’t wish to lay a burden on me.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I’m being silly and stupid.”

  “No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

  She brushed a gloved hand over her cheek. “Only yesterday I was wishing my sister would have some holiday cheer, and here I am like any watering pot. I beg your pardon, Ned.”

  His heart turned over. He wanted to take her in his arms. Promise her the world, if only…

  But it was too soon. And she was upset. Overwhelmed. He’d had no idea her father’s profligacy had affected her so much. Only a cad would take advantage.

  “I want you to do something for me,” he said. “For the next eight days, I want you to let me shoulder this burden.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not yours to bear.”

  “Consider it a Christmas gift.” She began to object, but he anticipated her. “You needn’t fear that I’ll infer some kind of promise or commitment from it. What happens after the holidays is still entirely your choice. But while I’m here in Derbyshire, let me worry about your father’s ambitions for the estate. You can concern yourself with more important things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Good Lord, I don’t know. Decorating? Singing carols? Gathering mistletoe?” He looked in the direction that the others had gone. “Speaking of which, we seem to have become separated from our party.”

  Sophie followed his gaze. “So much for our faithful chaperonage.”

  “Let’s hope the vicar is doing a better job of it.”

  “Shall we try and find them?” she asked.

  “If you like,” he said. “Or we could search out some mistletoe for ourselves.”

  Her cheeks were already flushed from the cold, but he could have sworn they turned a little redder. “There was some hereabouts last Christmas,” she admitted. “Emily and I found it by the—”

  Her words were interrupted by an ungodly shriek. They both turned in the direction from whence it came. Another high-pitched shriek heralded the arrival of one of the aristocratic young ladies they’d left behind to gather pine boughs. She ran toward them through the woods, her skirts clutched in her hands.

  “Miss Appersett! Miss Appersett!” She came to a sliding halt in the snow in front of Sophie.

  Sophie moved to steady her. “Miss Tunstall, what on earth is the matter?”

  “It’s your sister, ma’am,” Miss Tunstall panted. “She’s fallen on the ice and hurt her leg. She may have broken it. Or worse. Lady Barton mentioned amputation and Mr. Fortescue nearly fainted. Mrs. Fortescue said I was to fetch you straightaway.”

  Sophie’s face drained of color. Ned moved to place a reassuring hand on her back. But she was already charging off, Miss Tunstall trotting at her side. “I must go to her,” she said. “Tell the others—”

  “Damn the others.” Ned strode after her, ignoring Miss Tunstall’s scandalized gasp. “Here. Take my arm. It won’t help your sister if you injure yourself as well.”

  Sophie looked at him blankly for a moment. Then she nodded, seeming to bring her emotions under some semblance of control. “Yes. You’re quite right.” She took his arm, her fingers pressing tight into his sleeve as they retraced their steps back through the snow.

  They’d gone no more than a few yards when they crossed paths with Walter Murray. He was carrying Emily Appersett in his arms.

  “Not to worry,” he said as he emerged from the woods. “Just a twisted ankle. She’ll be fine once we get her back to the house.”

  “Oh, thank heaven.” Sophie reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “My poor dear. Does it hurt terribly?”

  Emily gave a weak smile. “It’s better now.”

  Ned’s gaze flicked from Emily’s face to Walter’s. His friend’s foul mood appeared to have vanished. “How did it happen?”

  “Overexuberance,” Walter said. “A failing in the very young.”

  “I’m not so much younger than you,” Emily retorted. “Not so anyone would notice.”

  “Whatever you say, brat.” Walter adjusted his hold on her. “Tighten your arms around my neck, will you? I’d hate to drop you in a snowbank.”

  Emily clung to him fiercely. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Ned chanced a look at Sophie as they followed in Walter’s wake. Her face was drawn with concern. Whatever was going on between Walter and her sister clearly didn’t sit well with her. “It will be all right,” he said quietly.

  Sophie met his eyes. “I hope so, Ned. For everyone’s sake.”

  The next two days passed in a blur of holiday revelry. While Emily rested on the sofa, a knitted blanket draped over her legs and her bandaged ankle elevated on a satin pillow, the rest of the party decorated the house with greenery, ribbons, and tinsel. The gentlemen hauled in the Yule log and the ladies gilded acorns and artificially frosted holly and ivy leaves with a mixture of alum and boiled water.

  The following afternoon, Mrs. Sharpe joined them in the drawing room. She took a seat not far from Emily, her knitting needles soon clacking in a steady rhythm. “You’d be wise to stay off of it until the new year. Or risk walking with a limp for the rest of your days.”

  Emily looked doubtful. “That would mean missing the Christmas ball.”

  “A small price to pay to avoid permanent lameness.”

  “But I must dance, Mrs. Sharpe. It will be our first ball at Appersett House since the gaslight was installed. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  Sophie was seated at a low inlaid table with Miss Tunstall, the Viscountess Barton, and Mrs. Lanyon. She was mending the tree skirt while the other ladies worked together on the kissing bough. “Perhaps just one dance.”

  Emily snorted. “One? That’s little better than nothing.”

  “How many waltzes will be played at the Christmas ball, Miss Appersett?” Miss Tunstall asked.

  “Three or four, I should think,” Sophie said.

  Mrs. Sharpe’s features tightened with disapproval.

  Sophie didn’t know why. It had been ages since the waltz was considered scandalous. Then again, Ned’s mother was a woman of advanced years. “Do you object to waltzing, ma’am?”

  “I object to public displays, in any form,” Mrs. Sharpe said with a forceful click of her needles. “Waltzing is but another excuse for excessive intimacy between young men and women. It can lead to nothing but trouble.”

  Emily struggled up to a sitting position on the sofa. “But everyone waltzes at balls.”

  “It’s true,” Sophie said. “It’s unexceptionable, even at the most formal events. Why, the Queen herself has been known to enjoy a waltz on occasion.”

  “With Prince Albert,” Mrs. Lanyon said. “God rest
his soul.”

  Mrs. Sharpe was unmoved. “It may be very well for your lords and ladies, Miss Appersett, but it doesn’t change my opinion of it.”

  No sooner had she finished her sentence than several of the gentlemen entered the drawing room. Among them were Ned and Mr. Murray. They’d been with Sophie’s father again, traipsing about the estate for the second day in a row.

  Ned leaned down to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Your opinion on what?”

  “Waltzing,” Emily said. “Your mother doesn’t approve.”

  “I won’t apologize for my views, Miss Emily,” Mrs. Sharpe said. “Humble as they may seem to you.”

  Mr. Murray winked at Emily. Emily responded by turning a becoming shade of rose.

  Sophie frowned. Whatever attraction her sister felt for Walter Murray had only grown since she twisted her ankle. And her feelings didn’t appear to be one-sided, either. Each afternoon Mr. Murray whiled away the hours, sitting beside Emily and reading aloud to her from some frivolous text or another.

  Sophie didn’t know whether she was disgusted or a little envious. Ned had paid her no such attentions since that day in the woods. She supposed it wasn’t in his nature to be easy with his affections. At least, not when it came to her. And yet…

  And yet he’d said that he admired her. That he wanted her for his own. That she was worth the cost of any improvements to Appersett House.

  She glanced up at him. He was still standing near Emily and his mother. He caught her gaze and then—much to her astonishment—gave a subtle jerk of his head in the direction of the doorway. Her brows lifted in question.

  “I must go upstairs and change,” he told his mother. “I’ll be back down for tea.”

  “You may fetch your father from the billiard room on your way back,” Mrs. Sharpe said. “He and the vicar have been in there since breakfast. They’ll want some refreshment.”

  Sophie waited a few moments before laying down her sewing and rising. “If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Are you going down to the kitchens, Sophie?” Emily interrupted. “Will you tell Cook that I want the iced gingerbread with tea and not that dry loaf she gave us yesterday?”