Someone to Care (Westcott #4)(105)
He had liked her since his rediscovery of his sister, but he had felt particularly warm toward her since yesterday. He had felt a bit awkward being amongst the members of a close family, though everyone had made him welcome. Lady Overfield had singled him out, though, for special attention. She had talked with him all evening from her perch on the window seat in the room where they were all gathered, drawing him out on topics he would not normally have raised with a woman, talking just enough herself to make it a conversation. He had soon relaxed. He had also felt honored, for to her he must appear little more than a gauche boy. He guessed she must be somewhere in her mid-thirties to his twenty-six. He did not know how long she had been a widow, but she must have been quite young when she lost her husband, poor lady. She had no children. She lived with Mrs. Westcott, her mother, at Alexander’s former home in Kent.
She had asked him a question.
“I was trying to decide,” he said, nodding in the direction of the group of young people, “which of the three ladies I should marry.”
She looked startled for a moment and then laughed with him as she glanced across the room.
“Oh, indeed?” she said. “But have you not heard, Lord Hodges, that when one gazes across a crowded room at the one and only person destined to be the love of one’s life, one feels no doubt whatsoever? If you look and see three possible candidates for the position, then it is highly probable that none of them is the right choice.”
“Alas,” he said. “Are you quite sure?”
“Well, not quite,” she admitted. “They are all remarkably pretty, are they not? I must applaud your taste. I have observed too that they are not indifferent to your charms. They have been stealing glances at you and exchanging nudges and giggles since yesterday—at least Abby and Jessica have. Estelle came only today after the wedding, but she seems equally struck by you. But, Lord Hodges, are you in search of a wife?”
“No,” he said after a slight hesitation. “Not really. I am not, but I am beginning to feel that perhaps I ought. Sometime. Maybe soon. Maybe not for a few years yet. And how is that for a firm, decisive answer?”
“Admirable,” she said, and laughed again. “I expect the young female world and that of its mamas will go into raptures when you do begin the search in earnest. You must know that you are one of England’s most eligible bachelors and not at all hard on the eyes either. Wren is over the moon with delight that you will be staying here tonight, by the way. She was disappointed last evening when you insisted upon returning home.”
“I believe the snow is still coming down out there, Lady Overfield,” he said. “If I tried to get home, there might be nothing more than my eyebrows showing above the snow when someone came in search of me. It would appear that I am stuck here for at least a couple of days.”
“Better here than there even if you could get safely home,” she said. “You would be stuck there and all alone for Christmas. The very thought makes me want to weep. But will you call me Elizabeth? Or even Lizzie? My brother is, after all, married to your sister, which fact makes us virtually brother and sister, does it not? May I call you Colin?”
“Please do, Elizabeth,” he said, feeling a bit awkward at saying her name. It seemed an imposition. But she had requested it, a particular mark of acceptance. What a very happy Christmas this was turning out to be—and it was not even Christmas Day yet. How could he even consider feeling melancholy?
“You ought to be very thankful for the snow,” she said. “Now you will not have to waste part of the morning in travel. Christmas morning is always one of my favorites of the year, if not my very favorite. Is it not a rare treat indeed to have a white Christmas? And has that been remarked upon a time or two already today? But I cannot remember the last time it happened. And it is not even a light dusting to tease the hopes of children everywhere but a massive fall. I would wager upon the sudden appearance of an army of snowmen and perhaps snow ladies tomorrow, as well as a heavenly host of snow angels. And snowball fights and sleigh rides—there is an ancient sleigh in the carriage house, apparently. And sledding down the hill. There are sleds too, which really ought to be in a museum somewhere, according to Alex, but which will doubtless work just as well as new ones would. There is even a hill, though not a very mountainous one, alas. It will do, however. You will not be sorry you stayed.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “I will choose to spend a more traditional Christmas in a comfortable chair by the fire, eating rich foods and imbibing spiced wine and napping.”
She looked at him, startled again. “Oh, you could not possibly be so poor spirited,” she said, noticing the twinkle in his eye. “You would be the laughingstock. A pariah. Expelled from Brambledean in deep disgrace, never to be admitted within its portals again even if you are Wren’s brother.”
“Does that also mean none of your young cousins would be willing to marry me?” he asked.
“It absolutely means just that,” she assured him. “Even I would not.”
“Ah,” he said, slapping a hand to the left side of his chest. “My heart would be broken.”
“I would have no pity on you,” she said, “even if you came to me with the pieces in your hand.”
“Cruel.” He sighed. “Then I had better be prepared to go out tomorrow and make a few snow angels and hurl a few snowballs, preferably at you. I warn you, though, that I was the star bowler on my cricket team at school.”