“In all my twenty-nine years, that’s the first time I have seen her swoon.” Lord Denham poured brandy into a glass, swallowed the contents in one large gulp and then refilled the tumbler. “Of course, she’ll deny the fact and find a way to explain why she collapsed in a heap.”
The earl moved to kneel at his mother’s side. He cradled her head and brought the glass to her mouth to wet her lips.
“Perhaps she’s acquainted with my grandfather. The blood drained from her face as soon as I mentioned his name.” Of course Lady Denham knew Montague Forsyth. Else, regardless of the weather, Lara would never have been so presumptuous as to call at a house uninvited.
“I can think of no other explanation.” The earl jerked his head towards the drinks table. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to take a nip yourself. I’m sure your lips should be as pink as a rose, not as blue as a berry.”
Lara noted the playfulness in his tone. “Perhaps I will take a sip.” She rose, crossed the room and poured no more than a mouthful of brandy into a crystal glass. “Once a chill sets in, it can be a devil to sleep at night.”
“Yes, during moments of weakness, restlessness plagues more than the mind.”
“Moments of weakness?” Lara’s heart skipped a beat. Surely he had not noticed her hidden anxiety, anxiety that stemmed from her reluctance to play a part in her grandfather’s plan. Heavens, the sooner Montague arrived, the sooner she could tell some semblance of the truth.
“When the cold hinders one’s circulation,” he explained, “it’s impossible to settle.”
“Indeed.” Relief calmed her panicked mind. The amber liquid slipped down her throat, scorching her windpipe. “Gracious.” She panted a few breaths. “The heat can come as quite a shock when one is used to nothing but ratafia.”
“Did the fire reach your toes?” the earl said with some amusement.
Lara shook her head. “It warmed my stomach. I fear I may have to down a quart to warm my digits.” She plastered her hand to her mouth as a chuckle escaped. “Forgive me. I should not laugh when Lady Denham is ill.”
The earl turned back to his mother. “I imagine she will wake in a moment. Perhaps her condition has nothing to do with your grandfather and the pressure of hosting this gathering has taken its toll.”
Lara placed her glass on the drinks table and returned to stand at the matron’s side. “I must confess, the thought of having a house full of guests during the festive season fills me with dread.”
The earl stood, too. “I share your loathing of such tiresome events.”
“Then why agree to play host?” The question fell from Lara’s lips without thought. She always spoke her mind. Another trait inherited from Montague Forsyth. “Forgive me. It is not my place to pry.”
A smile touched the earl’s lips. “Ask for my forgiveness again, and I shall put you in the bedchamber next to my mother’s.”
“On a winter’s night such as this, I shall be grateful for a bed in the barn. But you should know, I make a habit of expressing my views.”
“You should know I would rather hear honesty than stomach falsehoods, even if one might consider the comments impertinent. And so, in answer to your question, I promised my mother I would choose a bride before my thirtieth birthday. And so I must make my choice from those ladies in attendance.”
A frisson of guilt sent heat creeping up to her cheeks. Oh, she despised falsehoods, too, but how did one refuse the request of a man in his twilight years? H
ow did one say no to a grandfather seeking a second chance at love? While the earl’s masterful countenance suggested a defiance of society’s rules, Lara understood his need to please his family.
That said, her grandfather would never tell her who to marry.
“And your thirtieth birthday is when exactly?”
“In two days.”
“Two days!” Lara glanced at the matron and lowered her voice, though she swore she saw the lady’s eyes flicker open. “Then your birthday is on Christmas Day.”
“Yes. The day my mother expects me to make the ultimate sacrifice.” The earl arched a brow. “The Lord may have fulfilled his promise to his people, but I doubt I shall keep mine.”
“Is it that you don’t wish to marry, or that you are averse to those ladies present?”
The gentleman pondered the question.
Eventually, he glanced at his mother and shook his head. “Let’s say that one’s experiences of marriage as a child informs one’s desires as an adult. I’ll be damned if I’ll marry to secure a bloodline.” He inhaled a breath and in a calmer tone said, “Look out of the window, Miss Bennett, and tell me what you see. Describe the scene in two words if you can.”
Lara thought it an odd request, but having lied to the gentleman, the least she could do was appear accommodating.
She crossed the room and drew back the thick red curtain. Outside, a crisp white blanket covered everything as far as the eye could see. The world beyond the house looked peaceful. Perfect. Romantic notions filled her head. A stroll with a lover whilst wrapped in warm furs. Sharing a drink of chocolate by a roaring fire. Exchanging passionate kisses to heat their blood.