Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

L ady Holly Belham, eldest daughter of the Earl of Hartley, tilted her embroidery hoop to catch the winter light from the parlor’s wide window and pretended to concentrate on her needlework. Never mind that she’d been stitching the same bit of green-threaded vine since she’d picked up her sampler an hour ago. Her sister, Rose, certainly hadn’t noticed, being much too busy watching out the window in between turning pages of the novel she certainly wasn’t reading.

Both of them were doing a poor job of concealing the true reason they’d spent the afternoon in the front parlor of Hartley House. Not that it had been an unpleasant way to pass a December day. The room was comfortable, with a peat fire burning in the hearth and the tea trolley at hand, replenished by an attentive maid—though generally Holly preferred the cozier sitting room.

However, that room had the disadvantage of being located at the side of the house, with no direct view of the driveway leading to Hartley House’s front door. And though Holly liked to think her manner was circumspect, Rose, ensconced in the window seat, was quite obviously keeping watch over the long sweep of rain-darkened gravel.

Thus far, it had remained empty.

The two of them were keeping vigil for entirely different reasons, however. Every time Rose lifted her head to stare hopefully out the window, Holly felt a twinge of apprehension.

“He’s not coming,” Rose said unhappily. She set her book down and began twitching the heavy blue draperies back and forth between her fingers.

“Stop fiddling with the curtains,” Holly said. “Lord Thornton will arrive when he does, and not a moment before. Perhaps the weather has delayed him.”

She rather hoped it was the case. Not that their brother’s friend was frightening, in and of himself. Indeed, over the past few years, she’d seen enough of Viscount Thornton to know that he was possessed of enough kindness to offset his reputation as a bit of a scapegrace.

“But Ash said he’d arrive today .” Rose let out an impatient breath. “It’s almost Christmas, besides. If he’s any later, he might not be able to cut his tree and transport it in time.”

For two Christmases running, Lord Thornton had stopped over at Hartley House on the way to his brother’s estate in North Yorkshire. Hartley House’s grounds abutted the forest of Knavesmire Wood, where the viscount had permission to fell a large evergreen. It seemed his family had enthusiastically embraced the new Christmas tree tradition sweeping England, though Holly wasn’t quite certain of the appeal.

“Perhaps our brother was mistaken.” She raised her brows at Rose. “Why should you worry when, or even whether, the viscount arrives? It’s not as though Lord Thornton is courting you. Unless you wish to collect as many suitors as possible?”

Her sister stopped flapping the curtains and gave Holly a peevish look. “I’m quite happy with Lord Clarkston. No, I was thinking of you. You’re perilously close to being on the shelf?—”

“So you thought you’d thrust me at every passing gentleman?” Holly stabbed her embroidery needle through the linen cloth with more force than was necessary, and set her sampler on the table beside her wingback chair. “I’m content as I am, thank you very much. And even if I were not, my meddling younger sister would do best to keep her nose out of my business.”

Especially as that business contained secrets that would paint Holly in an unfavorable light, as far as Society was concerned. Which would then reflect poorly upon her family. Her brother and parents wouldn’t be greatly affected, but it was different for a young woman. Until Rose was safely married to Lord Clarkston, Holly must keep her secrets close.

Which ordinarily wouldn’t be an issue. Lord Clarkston was surely planning to propose over Christmas. Even with the proper reading of the banns, Rose would be safely wed by mid-February, when their father would relocate the household to London for the Season.

And Holly would take up her activities once again, without fretting about her sister’s prospects should her work be discovered.

“I’m just thinking of the family’s reputation,” Rose said primly. “It’s not right for the younger sister to be wed before the elder. People might think us odd, and it certainly won’t improve your chances.”

If only Rose knew.

“Lord Thornton won’t be staying long enough for you to work any machinations upon him,” Holly said, keeping her expression mild. “And as you’ve noted, Christmas is in three days. He will cut his tree, and be off.”

“I wish he’d come earlier, like last year.” Rose gave her a too-innocent smile. “Wasn’t it lovely having a handsome viscount here for three days? And then seeing him again at the duke’s Christmas Ball… Don’t you think you ought to further your acquaintance with him?”

“Not particularly.”

It wasn’t the truth, however. Under other circumstances, Holly might have let herself be swayed by Lord Thornton’s easy smile and mischievous streak of humor, by the dark hair that fell across his forehead in a wave, and the intelligence in his deep brown eyes…

Oh, what was she thinking!

She was not planning to marry—not since she’d joined Mrs. Caroline Norton’s efforts to further the cause of women. It was a scandalous endeavor in many people’s opinion, but Holly was a firm believer that Mrs. Norton was the victim of great injustice in her marriage and that her efforts before Parliament were of the utmost importance.

Not that every marriage was fraught with such tragedy and strife. Indeed, Holly’s own parents seemed contented enough, and she knew that, in some instances, couples even married for love and were very happy with the results.

But she couldn’t imagine any husband endorsing his wife’s crusading on behalf of weakening her lord and master’s conjugal rights—even if such rights were wholly unjust.

“I think he’s coming!” Rose leaned forward and pressed her face close to the window. “At last—I’ll go tell Ash.”

Holly swallowed the lump of worry in her throat and endeavored to summon a calm smile. “The butler will inform our brother, I’ve no doubt.”

“This way, we can welcome him properly.” Rose was already heading for the parlor door. “Do try and look happier about it, Holly. I declare, I don’t know what’s the matter with you.”

Her sister swept out of the room without waiting for an explanation, which Holly would not have given, in any case. She stood and shook out her skirts, dislodging a stray snip of green embroidery thread from the floral-patterned cotton. She was wearing one of her best day dresses, and she’d hesitated over choosing it—but Lord Thornton was a distinguished guest, no matter how she might feel about his visit.

The fact that Rose had once remarked that the colors brought out the gold highlights in Holly’s chestnut hair and hazel eyes really did not signify.

Despite herself, she went to the window. As Rose had said, a rider was approaching. He was swathed in a greatcoat and his top hat was drawn low, no doubt in an attempt to protect his face from the cold drizzle. Still, the dark hair and the long-nosed features proved that, indeed, Viscount Thornton had reached Hartley House.