Chapter 10

10

S?ren hadn’t realized it in London, but Cyril Lightbourne was every bit as ridiculous as Lady Mariah. S?ren sipped at his tea at the breakfast table on Tuesday morning, stifling the urge to roll his eyes much like Emil would at the laughable conversation the man-child was having now with Lord Castleton.

The earl had brought up a debate he’d been having about what to do with some tenancies in the village of Hope. The population had grown, and he hadn’t yet decided where to build new housing.

“Why not ask the villagers where they’d like them to be situated?” Lightbourne had just said in reply.

As if the villagers had any informed opinion about these matters. As if they had studied architecture or the environment enough to weigh in with any authority.

Idiot man.

In the Kingeland home, Lightbourne had been one other suitor standing between S?ren and Pearl, more an annoyance than an actual rival. A large annoyance, yes. When he’d happened to be on hand to rescue the lady from the boating accident and then she’d realized he stood to inherit an earldom, she had been far too intrigued.

Lady Pearl, however, could always be counted on to be ambitious above romantic. She enjoyed the story of Lightbourne’s rescue, the attention it brought her, both from him and her other adoring admirers. But more than that, she’d craved advancement and position and wealth—something S?ren could offer in greater degree than any English suitor. It was really too bad she hadn’t shown a bit more discretion when it came to charming, handsome men like Emil.

Irrelevant now, though. Despite the letter he had in his bag from her, declaring that he was the one she’d decided on, and she would accept his proposal the very moment he gave it, S?ren had no intentions of ever seeing Lady Pearl Kingeland again.

Lightbourne, on the other hand, he was seeing far more of than he’d ever thought he would, and the increased exposure only made him more convinced this man-child would shoot himself in the foot soon enough. S?ren probably needn’t bother with any plan more complex than stealing his girl from him.

No doubt to humor his na?ve heir, Castleton hummed thoughtfully at the suggestion to seek his tenants’ opinions on their living situation. “Well now, why not?”

Lightbourne grinned. “They are the ones who live and work there. They must know the land and their own needs better than anyone you could hire in.”

S?ren took another bite of his toast and meat. The other gentlemen had opted for porridge, but he couldn’t stomach the bland English variety, being accustomed as he was to ?llebr?d —rye bread porridge.

If Lightbourne someday joined Lords with opinions like that— why not ask the people? —he would make a laughingstock of himself. Though it would be years before the pup had the chance to humiliate himself so publicly before his peers ... and though S?ren was patient, he wasn’t quite that patient. Even so, he must tread carefully, as he’d known at the start. A personal humiliation for Lightbourne would be satisfying, but he didn’t want to impugn the Castleton family or estate—not when he meant to attach his own name to it.

Which he did. Perhaps Lady Mariah wasn’t as beautiful as Pearl, and perhaps her flights of fancy were tiring, but she was sweet-natured. Malleable. Charming, even, in her own way. Not the sort of charm he personally was won over by, but she would be well received by the Danish court, he was certain.

Movement through the doorway caught his eye, and he looked up to catch sight of a feminine form approaching. She really wasn’t at all bad to look at either. In fact, her figure was quite beguiling. And viewed in profile like this...

No, wait. That wasn’t Lady Mariah. It was Louise, Lady Swann, who most definitely did rival Pearl in beauty, despite being seven years her senior. And she was far more sensible than her sister. Perhaps she no longer had a dowry to offer—only whatever widow’s portion her first husband had left her—but he didn’t need the influx of cash. If she weren’t still in mourning and if he weren’t after vindication as well as a bride, she would have been the more pleasing choice. But alas.

The sweet taste of revenge more than made up for any lack in Mariah’s beauty or sense. He would stick with his original plan both for its logic and that powder of sugar on top.

Louise greeted them softly and moved to the sideboard for her tea and toast. Mariah all but skipped into the room a moment later with the energy of a schoolgirl, placing a kiss upon her stepfather’s cheek with a grin. “Morning, Papa. Cyril. My lord. Louise.”

Couldn’t she at least tamp the enthusiasm down a bit? Mornings and rambunctious greetings didn’t mesh.

Castleton and Lightbourne returned her greeting, but her sister sighed and pressed fingers to her temple. “‘He that blesseth his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, it shall be counted as a curse to him.’ Proverbs—”

“Twenty-seven, fourteen. Yes, I know. You’ve been quoting it at me since the moment you first read it.” She flashed a grin at Cyril. “It was the first verse she memorized, I think. Just for my benefit. I was flattered.”

“It most certainly was not the first.” Louise’s lips turned up in the corners, just a bit. It was a shame she didn’t smile more—it made her even lovelier. “But without question the one I’ve had cause to trot out most often.”

Castleton chuckled, Lightbourne returned Lady Mariah’s grin, and S?ren smiled to himself. They were growing closer every day. Anyone with eyes could see it. Which meant it would hurt Lightbourne worse when S?ren took her away with him.

Good. Not that he was pleased about the fact that it would upset the lady as well. Though, come to think of it, a little heartbreak could be just what she needed to mature and let go of some of these silly ways of hers. He would be doing her a favor.

And he hadn’t been lying on Sunday when he promised her anything she desired in terms of possessions, travel, or benevolence. He would mend her heart with whatever life she wanted. They’d grow fond of each other, just as his parents had done. And once children came along, she would forget any past pain. Given the affection in her voice when she spoke of the village children, he knew she would dote on her own.

“And what are your plans for the day, sweetling?” Castleton directed the question to Mariah as he slathered marmalade onto a triangle of toast.

She flounced to her usual seat at the table, a plate of gingerbread and a cup of tea in hand. “I plan on spending the day in the village. I want to make certain everyone is well before the ball and help in any way I can with last minute tweaks to wardrobe and so on.”

Louise frowned at her. “If you’re walking to the village, don’t you think you had better eat more than cake for breakfast?”

“Who said anything about walking? I was hoping I could take the gig, Papa.” She sent him a smile intended to charm him.

Castleton chuckled again. “You know I don’t mind in general, but it is a bit slick out there just now. And you remember, I don’t doubt, how you handled it last year in the snow?”

Mariah made a sheepish face and glanced outside, where a thin layer of snow had fallen overnight.

Lightbourne set down his spoon. “I’d be happy to drive her, Cass. I have plenty of experience in the snow, and I would love the chance to meet the neighbors.”

S?ren had far more cold-weather experience than any Englishman could have, but he didn’t make an offer of his own, despite the questioning look the earl sent him. No, he simply granted his concession with an inclination of his head.

Let them go together. Let them moon over each other and delight ever more in each other’s company. Let Lightbourne tumble even further into the teeth of love. The deeper those teeth dug, the more they would rip him to shreds when S?ren and Mariah announced their engagement at the ball.

Castleton gave his approval. The younger two downed their breakfasts and then all but galloped from the room like a couple of children escaping their nursemaid. The earl rose too, declaring he had better go and check on a few things himself.

S?ren turned his head toward Louise, ready to make a bit of idle small talk, only to find her frowning thoughtfully at him. “Is there something on your mind, my lady?”

She tilted her head a bit, her food still untouched before her. “Do you think that wise, my lord? To let them go off gallivanting together? I cannot be the only one who sees that neither of them remembers their intendeds when they are together. It is a dangerous thing.”

Did she really believe that Lady Pearl had agreed to marry Lightbourne? It seemed she did—that they all did. And he’d let them think it—it would keep the earl from encouraging his favorite stepdaughter to choose him over S?ren.

To Louise, he shrugged. “If your sister is the kind to forget herself so fully, I would just as soon learn it now.”

Louise blushed. “I do not mean to imply she would behave inappropriately. For all her personality quirks, Mariah is of impeccable moral character. But she once fancied herself in love with Mr. Lightbourne, ever since they met as children. They exchanged letters every week for ages, until my mother put her foot down. Yet they seem to have picked up where they left off. I would think you would want to win her heart from him, not encourage the attachment.”

What was it with females insisting upon such sentiments? He felt his brows furrow. “I suppose you think marriage ought to be founded on romance and love too then?”

She pursed her lips. “I think marriage ought to be founded on mutual respect, admiration, and a shared expectation for the future. But Mariah wishes for love and romance. And as she is the one with whom you’re considering matrimony, not me, it is her opinion you ought to consider.”

He lifted his nearly empty cup and took the last sip of his tepid tea. Put that way, she did have a point. And wouldn’t it twist the knife in Lightbourne even more if S?ren won not just her hand but her heart? Not to mention that it would make the transition from English miss to Danish mistress easier for her. He set his cup down again, thoughtful. “Your logic is unassailable. But I am afraid I have never given much consideration to making a woman fall in love with me.”

When Louise smiled full like she did now, she made Lady Pearl look like a troll. “Lucky for you, my lord, Mariah has bored me with countless versions of her ideal hero over the years. I’m happy to lend you my expertise.”

“Generous of you.”

She granted it with another tilt of her head. “For all our difficulties, she is my sister. I want her to be happy. I think a gentleman like you could be very good for her, if you can overcome her hesitations.” She blinded him with another smile. “And I admit I would relish an invitation to visit the two of you in Denmark. The pictures I’ve seen of it are stunning.”

“You would be most welcome to stay as long as you like. My homes would always be open to anyone in your family.” Aside from Lightbourne. That went without saying. But having the coolheaded Louise on hand to calm any of Mariah’s outbursts of silliness could be rather handy.

Not that her rebukes calmed Mariah, exactly. But she at least quelled her enthusiasm some of the time.

He poured himself a second cup of tea while Louise recounted the qualifications for a hero that she’d noted as recurring themes in her sister’s stories and games. He must be gallant. Handsome. Selfless. Attuned to the needs of others. The sort to rescue the heroine in one moment and yet require her aid in another.

As the list went on, his frown grew deeper. “Your sister wants a man who doesn’t exist.”

Louise laughed. “Obviously. That is what I’ve always told her. But the general ideas can be met easily enough. Ask for her opinions and help. Be at hand to lend her your own. Compliment the village children and look for ways to help them and their families. And at least you needn’t worry about the handsome part.”

He glanced sharply at her at that one and found her blushing slightly. Thanked her with the barest hint of a smile. “We are fortunate that my brother did not join me. When viewed together, everyone always favors him.”

“I can’t imagine that.” Her blush deepened.

He appreciated the sentiment all the more for her self-consciousness over it. “He is ... charming. Charismatic.”

Her eyes went wide, no doubt contrasting the idea with S?ren’s reserve. “That sounds exhausting. I’ve found that charming, charismatic men must be watched like a hawk and even then ought never to be trusted. My late husband’s brother was much the same, and he left a trail of broken hearts and irate husbands and fathers in his wake.” She sighed, shaking her head. “And now the marquessate is his. I have no doubt he will run it into the ground in half a decade, and his poor wife has had to become an expert at turning a blind eye to his indiscretions.”

“Deplorable.” And he knew exactly how she felt upon considering such a dismal situation. “I pray the Lord grants me a son before anything happens to me. I have no trust in Emil’s ability to preserve our legacy for the next generation either.”

The lady sipped at her tea. “Why, then, have you not married before now? If you don’t mind my asking—please feel free to ignore the question if it is too personal.”

“I don’t mind.” He held his cup in his hands, enjoying the warmth of it. “I was, nearly. Lady Ingrid. Our families had been planning the match for over a decade, but she was a good deal younger than I, so I was to wait for her to come of age. She is, I believe, two years or so older than your sister.”

Louise nodded her understanding. “What happened?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Nothing grave. The king and prince summoned me for an audience and shared their reasoning for wanting a stronger alliance with Britain. They suggested I pursue an English bride instead, promising they would arrange another fine match for Ingrid. I had no objections. Ingrid and I would have suited well enough, but we both value our relationship with the royal family above all. Neither of us even considered objecting to their recommendation.”

“Sensible.”

“Indeed. She is betrothed now to another greve—older even than I, a widower who was without an heir. She will be a boon to his family. Just as your sister will be to mine.”

“All’s well that ends well, then.” Her smile was more muted, though, than it had been before. She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “I had better return to my knitting. If I may make a suggestion—perhaps you ought to explore the village? One never knows when my sister could slip or fall and need a helping hand up.”

He returned her muted smile, stood, and took the liberty of scooting her chair out for her so she could stand. “Thank you, my lady, for your help and advice. I am in your debt.”

Her smile this time looked more sorrowful than ever. “That remains to be seen, I think. But you are most welcome, regardless. I wish you good luck with my sister.”

S?ren thanked her and bade her farewell, hastening to his room to change into his riding habit. The earl had already offered him a mount anytime he felt the need for a ride, and he had only to wait a few minutes in the stable for a fine sorrel mare to be prepared for him.

The ride to the village was short, brisk, and did wonders for clearing his head. He ought to have taken some exercise before now. He’d kept up with his usual calisthenics in his room, but he’d missed the invigoration of outdoor exercise.

Castleton wasn’t so large that it should prove difficult to find Mariah and Lightbourne, and he saw their gig quickly enough. Empty, but they must be in one of the row of shops.

Reasoning that a quick survey of the town could be useful, he kept his horse moving, filing away every detail he saw. Later, he would add his impressions to his journal, along with a few sketches of the town.

In a town this small, he garnered a fair share of attention. More than one woman out with her children paused to gape up at him, and quite a few men paused in their work to stare. Ordinarily he would have ignored them, but Louise’s advice rang in his head.

He smiled, tipped his hat, even called out a few “Happy Christmas” greetings, all of which were heartily returned. He didn’t need the people of Castleton to like him. But it couldn’t hurt if they chattered to Mariah about what an amiable fellow he was.

By the time he’d finished his circuit and returned to the village square, Mariah and Lightbourne were exiting one of the shops and hurrying toward another. Perhaps, had they not been laughing together, they would have noticed him dismounting from his borrowed mount. As it was, the only thing Mariah seemed to notice beyond her companion was a bakery window. She paused, pointed, and even from across the square S?ren could hear her exclamations of pleasure and joy. Rather than go in, though, she pulled herself away, and she and Lightbourne ducked into another shop.

S?ren strode to the bakery window, toying with the idea of buying her something. Women liked gifts, didn’t they? And she had a sweet tooth—she seemed especially fond of the seasonal delights of Christmas. How was he to know which of the biscuits and cakes and confections had caught her eye? And what if it had been the massive gingerbread house dominating the display? He could hardly cart that back to the manor house on his horse. Besides, he’d seen most of these same treats on the trays that had been included with every meal and tea.

An idea percolated in his mind. Yes, these traditional English treats were already on hand at the manor house ... but he knew a few confections that most assuredly weren’t, and that wouldn’t be found in any English bakery either.

And to be honest, he rather missed the taste of his own traditional baked goods, enough that he’d considered asking the cook at the manor to bake a few of them before deciding against it. A good guest never asked for what wasn’t readily offered. And he certainly didn’t want to appear to be a sentimental fool. He’d contented himself with a review of the recipes he had written down in one of his old journals and the knowledge that when he returned home in the new year, he could ask his own chef to bake them.

Decision made, he pushed into the shop, a bell heralding his arrival and the scents of sugar and yeast and spices greeting his nose.

A plump fellow with a flour-dusted apron stepped from the back kitchen to the front sales area, his eyes going wide as S?ren strode toward him. “Em ... good day, sir. You must be a visitor to our fair village. To Plumford, perchance?”

“Quite right.” He smiled, telling himself to try and imitate the way Emil did it. “Lord Castleton and his family have been quite welcoming.”

“Oh, they’re the best sort, they are indeed.” The baker’s tone was warm, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

Good. Still imitating his brother’s relaxed demeanor, S?ren leaned onto the glass display case. “I wonder, good sir, if you are available to help with a holiday scheme of mine?”

“Scheme, you say?” His eyes darted toward the door, uncertainty coloring them.

S?ren chuckled. “Nothing underhanded, I promise you. I only want to surprise the Castleton family with some confections from my country. Denmark.”

“Ah.” The shadows fell away from the man’s eyes, but he frowned in the next second. “I don’t believe I have any Danish recipes, I’m afraid.”

“I have a few.” At the way the baker’s brows flew up, S?ren shrugged. “I have an excellent memory and write down every new thing I learn. Last year, I gifted my own chef with a very lovely printed book of classic recipes, and I read through it myself first to make certain it was appropriate. I copied out a few of my favorites.” Oh, how Emil had scoffed at him when he’d come in and found him about it. He would never, his brother claimed, have any need for those recipes, so why had he bothered?

But what was so comical about studying the things one liked best? It had helped him to realize what common ingredients he favored most, and hence why he was drawn to the dishes he was and steered clear of those he didn’t. He could now tell his chef “no anise, but anything with almond paste is acceptable” and know that he would never have to send a dish back.

And besides, writing down one’s favorite recipes might even be called whimsical, mightn’t it? Mariah would certainly find it so and would appreciate the effort he was going to now.

The baker pursed his lips. “Well now, sir. I’m happy to help, if I have the ingredients on hand. Could you copy the recipes out for me now, do you think? Or send them along later?”

“I can copy them for you now, if you have some paper and a pen or pencil.”

Ordinarily he would have referred to his journal to guarantee accuracy, but he had just reviewed those recipes yesterday. The memory was fresh and clear.

The baker watched as he wrote, nodding encouragingly and muttering things like, “Ah yes, a classic pastry crust. I’ve plenty of butter and flour on hand, of course.... Yeast! An interesting addition. Give it a bit of a puff, I’d think. Delightful.”

By the time S?ren finished, the chap was beaming. “Not a problem at all. I can’t guarantee the presentation will be exactly what you’re used to, mind you, having never seen them. But the processes look familiar enough, and the taste ought to be right. What do you call this, now?”

“Kringle.”

“Looks like a bit of rest time for that dough ... but I can have them prepared for you by this afternoon. Though if I may offer a suggestion?” The man looked up from studying the recipe.

S?ren nodded slightly.

He tapped a finger to the instruction to fill it with a tart cherry jam. “I happen to have several jars of plum preserves made from the earl’s own fruit. It’s a favorite of theirs. I don’t see why it wouldn’t work in this just as well as cherry.”

His first instinct was to refuse—after all, the mixture of cherry and almond filling was what made it say Christmas to him. But remembering Louise’s advice— selfless —he reconsidered. Something or another with plums had been at nearly every meal, which he hadn’t bothered to notice until the baker drew his attention to it. It made sense, though—the vast plum orchards dominated the estate’s southern acres. The earl and his family were proud of their fruit in all its forms, so much so that the entire estate bore the name. Wouldn’t using their own preserves gain him even more favor?

He nodded. “Brilliant idea. Please make the adjustment as you see fit.”

He left the bakery again more than satisfied. Emil would call him smug. And he might be right. Setting himself to follow his soon-to-be-betrothed, he smiled to himself. He’d steal her if he must. Win her if he could.

And either way, Lightbourne would be wallowing in sorrow this Christmas instead of joy.