His Christmas Countess

‘How small a house party?’ she enquired, leaning away from him to give Anna a quick kiss and to hide the uncertainty that she could manage the sort of gathering an earl might hold. Provided it was here, on what had become her own turf, she was not too anxious.

‘No more than three close friends of mine, potentially with partners. I’ve had enough formal socialising in London to last me several months. Charlie, do you remember Lord Weybourn?’

‘Uncle Alex?’

‘Yes. He was married in January. I thought to ask him and his wife to stay. And, if they are still in the country, Lord Avenmore and Lord Edenbridge. They are old friends,’ he added for Kate’s benefit. ‘The two bachelors might bring their unmarried sisters, perhaps, to balance out the men.’

‘That sounds delightful.’ Kate took a bread roll from the basket, then sat with it in her hands, wondering why she had picked it up. The longer Grant sat beside her, the more her appetite deserted her. It was nerves, that was all. She was happy that he was back, for Charlie’s sake if nothing else—only, there was a hollow feeling of anticipation, as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. This was her husband and he was going to expect to begin a normal married life, with all that entailed. Part of that hollowness was apprehension, but a good part was excitement and she had been making herself face that ever since the arrival of the letter announcing his return.

She put the bread roll back untasted, handed Charlie an apple turnover and smiled as he ran off, mouth full, to retrieve his ball. Beside her Grant was silent and she sought for small talk to fill the void. ‘It has been...quiet. I am glad you are back. The children are very absorbing, of course.’

‘But they are not adults. You have been lonely.’ When she murmured agreement he asked, ‘Have none of our neighbours called?’

‘Dr Meldreth and his wife and the vicar and his sister, that is all. Please, do not make too much of it. I am in mourning, after all, and in the country people do observe that very rigorously. I see them in church on Sunday, naturally, and I usually dine with Mr Gough.’

‘Now I am back I will visit all our neighbours, let the ladies know we are not in strict mourning any longer. You should get any number of calls within days.’

Charlie’s voice floated down from the portico of the mausoleum. ‘...and now Papa’s back I will help him with the estate, just like he helped you, Great-Grandpapa. You’ll be proud of me when I do that, I expect, Mama.’

‘What the devil?’ Grant swung round, sending the lemonade jug rocking. ‘Who is he talking to? My grandfather, his mother? Is the child delusional?’

‘Of course not.’ Kate grabbed his arm as he began to get to his feet. Grant shot her a frowning look, but settled back down beside her when she did not relax her grip. ‘He missed his great-grandfather, so we started coming down here so that he could talk to him. And then he realised that his mama was here, too. He understands that we do not know what happens after death and he doesn’t think he is talking to ghosts or anything unhealthy like that. But it comforts him, helps him to sort out his feelings. Rather like writing a diary, I suppose.’ Kate came up on her knees beside Grant, her hand on the unyielding arm braced to push him to his feet. ‘Did I do wrong? He is not at all morbid about it and this is a lovely place. A peaceful place, where he can remember happy times.’

‘He cannot remember his mother, he never really knew her, she died when he was only just two.’ Grant stayed where he was, but the tension radiated off him. Had he loved his first wife so much that he could not bear any mention of her? But that was not what Dr Meldreth had implied. The staff in the house acted and spoke as though Charlie’s mother was a grief that could not be spoken about, becoming thin-lipped and awkward if Kate made any reference to her. There were no portraits, not even in Charlie’s room.

‘He says he remembers her scent and the fact that she always wore blue, but that is all. I have no idea whether it is accurate, but it helps him to have that faint image. He is certain that she was beautiful.’

‘She was.’ Grant’s voice softened. ‘Blonde and blue-eyed, which is why she favoured blue in her dress. She always wore jasmine scent and on a warm evening it lingered in the air like the ghost of incense...’ Kate closed her eyes at the hint of pain beneath the reminiscent tone. ‘Charlie would do well to forget she ever existed,’ he said and turned so his back was to the little temple.