A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(21)

And knowing that any woman foolish enough to become involved with him would fare no better than the shattered teacup on the terrace.

CHAPTER 7

As Hannah went into the entrance hall, the warm air caused her cold cheeks to prickle. She kept to the back of the entrance hall, trying to avoid the crowd of newly arrived guests and servants. It was a prosperous, richly dressed group, the ladies glittering with finery and dressed in fur-trimmed cloaks and capes.

Natalie would be awake soon, and she usually began each day with a cup of tea in bed. With so much activity, Hannah was skeptical that they would be able to summon a housemaid. She considered going to the breakfast room to fetch a cup of tea for Natalie and bring it upstairs herself. And perhaps one for Lady Blandford

“Miss Appleton.” A vaguely familiar voice came from the crowd, and a gentleman came forward to greet her.

It was Edward, Lord Travers. Hannah had not expected him to come to Stony Cross Park for the holidays. She smiled warmly at him, the agitated pressure in her chest easing. Travers was a comfortably buttoned-up man, secure in himself and his place in the world, polite in every atom. He was so conservative in manner and appearance that it was almost surprising to see up close that his face was yet unlined and there was no gray in his close-trimmed brown hair. Travers was a strong man, an honorable one, and Hannah had always liked him tremendously.

“My lord, how pleasant it is to see you here.”

He smiled. “And to find you all in a glow, as usual. I hope you are in good health? And the Blandfords and Lady Natalie?”

“Yes, we’re all quite well. I don’t believe Lady Natalie knew of your imminent arrival, or she would have mentioned it to me.”

“No,” Travers admitted, “I had not planned to come here. My relations in Shropshire were expecting me. But I’m afraid I prevailed on Lord Westcliff for an invitation to Hampshire.” He paused, turning sober. “You see, I learned of Lord Blandford’s plans concerning his daughter and…the American.”

“Yes. Mr. Bowman.”

“My desire is to see Lady Natalie happy and well situated,” Travers said quietly. “I cannot conceive how Blandford could think this arrangement would be best for her.”

Since she could not agree without criticizing her uncle, Hannah murmured carefully, “I also have concerns, my lord.”

“Surely Lady Natalie has confided in you. What has she said on the matter? Does she like this American?”

“She is disposed to consider the match, to please Lord Bland-ford,” Hannah admitted. “And also…Mr. Bowman is not without appeal.” She paused and blinked as she saw Rafe Bowman at the far side of the entrance hall, talking with his father. “In fact, Mr. Bowman is standing over there.”

“Is he the short, stout one?” Travers asked hopefully.

“No, my lord. That is Mr. Bowman the elder. His son, the tall one, is the gentleman to whom Lord Blandford wishes to betroth Lady Natalie.”

In one glance, Travers saw everything he needed to know. Rafe Bowman was unreasonably good-looking, the power of his lean, striking form no less evident for his relaxed posture. His sable hair was thick and wind ruffled, his complexion infused with healthy color from the outside air. Those coal-dark eyes glanced around the room in cool appraisal, while a faint, ruthless smile curved his lips. He looked so predatory that it made the memory of his elusive gentleness all the more startling to Hannah.

For someone like Lord Travers, a rival such as Bowman was his worst nightmare.

“Oh, dear,” Hannah heard him murmur softly.

“Yes.”

EVIE CAME INTO THE BALLROOM CARRYING A HEAVY TWO-handled basket. “Here are the l-last of them,” she said, having just come from the kitchen, where she and two scullery maids had been filling small paper cones with nuts and dried fruit, and tying them closed with red ribbons. “I hope this will be enough, considering it’s such a l-large t” She stopped and gave Anna-belle a perplexed glance. “Where is Lillian?”

“Here,” came Lillian’s muffled voice from beneath the tree. “I’m arranging the tree skirt. Not that it matters, since one can hardly see it.”

Annabelle smiled, standing on her toes to tie a little cloth doll on the highest branch she could reach. Dressed in winter white, with her honey-colored hair drawn up in curls and her cheeks pink from exertion, she looked like a Christmas angel. “Do you think we should have chosen such a tall tree, dear? I’m afraid it will take from now until Twelfth Night for us to finish decorating it.”

“It had to be tall,” Lillian replied, crawling out from beneath the tree. With a few pine needles stuck in her sable hair and shreds of cotton batting clinging to her dress, she didn’t look at all like a countess. And from the wide grin on her face, one could tell that she didn’t give a fig. “The room is so cavernous, it would look silly to have a short one.”

Over the next fortnight several events would take place in the ballroom, including a dance, some games and amateur entertainments, and a grand Christmas Eve ball. Lillian was determined that the tree would be as splendid as possible, to add to the festive atmosphere. However, decorating it was turning out to be more difficult than Lillian had anticipated. The servants were so busy with the household work that none of them could be spared for extra duties. And since Westcliff had forbidden Lillian and her friends from climbing on ladders or high stools, the top half of the tree was, so far, completely bare.