Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

Oh, no. She was right to worry. He really did think she was too managing. No wonder he hadn’t kissed her again. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

He looked startled. “I’m only teasing. No need to poker up.”

Channing spoke lightly, but that didn’t mean his criticism wasn’t sincere. She lowered her head and answered with uncharacteristic meekness. “How you must curse me. I’ve done nothing but lay down the law. I mean well, but I’m so used to being in charge that I forget other people might have plans of their own.”

“I do.”

“Forget other people have their own ideas?”

He smiled and opened the gate. “No, I have plans. Lots of them. Now come and have something to eat. Overwork is turning you maudlin.”

Bess dredged up an answering smile, although his kindness only reminded her how much she liked him. She didn’t want Lord Channing deciding she was unpleasantly bumptious. She wanted him to keep thinking she was the prettiest girl in the village, silly and shallow as that made her. “At least you must appreciate the cook I found you. Mrs. Hallam is a treasure.”

He regarded her searchingly as he stood back to let her out. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. You and the villagers have made Penton Abbey into a home a man can be proud of. And you’ve all worked yourselves to the bone to achieve it.”

After latching the gate, he patted Daisy in farewell. The donkey’s eyes closed in bliss. For Channing, she almost behaved like a civilized creature. Everybody liked the new earl.

Including Bess.

“You’re paying them.”

He shrugged. “They’ve done this for more than wages. They’ve done it for love. And so have you.”

Heat stung Bess’s cheeks. Oh, Lord. Was she so transparent? How vilely humiliating. Was that why he hadn’t kissed her? Because he saw how utterly gooey-eyed she was over him?

“We want you to feel welcome,” she said awkwardly.

“I do. I’m even starting to love the old place the way you obviously do.”

Such powerful relief flooded her that her head swam. He was talking about her love for the house, not her barely controlled penchant for him. “I’m glad.”

Channing took her arm the way he usually did. At first she’d wondered if this was a sign of special favor. But as he never went beyond a polite escort, she’d since realized it meant nothing beyond a friendly gesture. But that didn’t stop her foolish heart turning somersaults at the touch of his hand.

“I’ve never really had a home before.”

Deliberately Bess slowed to a stop. She was agonizingly curious about his life before he arrived at Penton Wyck. “Not even as a boy?”

“My mother could never settle in England—or to her marriage to my father. She returned to Scotland, once she’d delivered the heir and the spare as required. With her duty done, she felt free to follow her inclinations. By all reports, my father was pleased to be rid of her. It wasn’t a happy union. You must know some of this. The village is a hotbed of gossip.”

“Naturally, there were stories. But nobody knew what happened to your mother after she left, and your father certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. It was all such a long time ago.”

“That makes me feel old,” he said with that flashing amusement that was so much a part of him. To her regret, he released her arm and faced her, shaking his head. “For shame, Miss Farrar.”

“You’re not old. You’re…you’re just right,” she said, and blushed even hotter than she had when she feared he’d guessed her tendre for him.

“Why, thank you,” he said, and she knew he was trying not to laugh.

With great effort, she put aside her discomfort. If he was in the mood to confide, nothing would drag her away. “But surely you had a home in Scotland?”

“My mother remarried when I was nine. A rich lawyer from Edinburgh. We lived with him and his four daughters for a couple of years, although Mamma was soon restless and unhappy again. She wasn’t cut out for marriage.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I liked my stepfather, and it was fun having sisters, when they weren’t driving me mad with their giggling. But I was only there for two years. I went to sea when I was eleven.”

The quiet stables fostered intimacy. The pleasant fug of horses and leather and hay lulled Bess into a feeling of warmth and comfort and safety. “What happened to your mother?”

“Ten years ago, she fell from a horse taking a fence that nobody in their right mind would attempt. She broke her neck.”