Chapter Two
Christmas Eve, 9:00 p.m.
It wasn’t as if the entire house had gone up in flames.
It’d hardly been a fire at all, for pity’s sake. The flames certainly hadn’t gotten as far as the drawing-room door, no matter what Ethan Fortescue said. Such a fuss, and over nothing more than a few scorched raisins! Well, that and a singed carpet, but it was only the tiniest of holes. No one would even know it was there once the footmen moved the settee over it, and the smell of burnt wool would dissipate eventually.
It had every other time.
Thea jabbed at a log in the fireplace in Ethan’s study. Cursing, in the middle of a Christmas Eve party, in front of children! It would take her ages to persuade George and Henry not to repeat the words devil and bloody, and Martha was bound to be up all night for the next week, fretting about Thea being taken up by the magistrate.
Taken up, indeed. What nonsense—
“Children messing about with lit spirits, Miss Sheridan? Ah, well. It’s hardly like Christmas at all without painful burns, I suppose.”
The low drawl came from the doorway behind her. Thea gave the log a vicious poke, but she didn’t turn around, because if she had to look at Ethan’s slow, mocking smile just now, there was no telling what she might do—
“It’s a mercy the entire bloody house didn’t go up in flames.”
Thea hefted the heavy poker in her hand, considering. Perhaps she did know what she’d do, after all.
He sauntered into the room, dropped into the chair behind the massive oak desk, and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Not to worry, Miss Sheridan. Despite your recklessness, we won’t be homeless for Christmas, after all. I’ve managed to douse the flames.”
“Indeed?” Goodness, what a relief that was. She’d been certain a handful of unruly raisins would be the end them all. “I’m delighted to hear it, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound delighted. You sound cross. Don’t tell me the fire has blackened your holiday spirits?”
Thea warned herself to hold her tongue, but as usual it didn’t listen. “No. I only wonder how you managed to put out such terrible flames. Did you smother them with the toe of your boot? Or did you beat them back with one of the tasseled silk pillows?”
“Such a saucy tongue.” He made a tsking sound, his voice heavy with mock regret. “Even when you were a small child that tongue could flay the skin off the toughest hide, but we’re not children anymore, Miss Sheridan. I’m the earl, you’re my servant, and you forget yourself. Now, I’ll have the explanation I demanded earlier at once, if you please. What the devil are you up to?”
Thea stabbed the log and watched it disintegrate in a shower of red sparks. Well, he was every inch the proper earl now, wasn’t he? “Up to? Why, just a jolly game of Snapdragon. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Children have played it on Christmas Eve for centuries. We’ve played it here at Cleves Court for years now, with no harm done.”
He snorted. “No harm? There are at least six burn holes in my great-great-grandfather’s Aubusson carpet, and if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect someone was trying to hide them under the furniture.”
Thea winced. Dash it all, why had the footmen moved those settees while Ethan was in the room? “Well, as to that, there’s a perfectly innocent explanation—”
He held up his hand. “Never mind. I always hated that carpet. But perhaps you’d be so good as to answer a few other questions. We’ll start with a simple one, shall we? A serving maid called Becky told me the housekeeper was responsible for this party. I assume she meant you. What the devil happened to Mrs. Hastings? I hope those demonic children haven’t bound and gagged her, and locked her in a cupboard somewhere.”
Thea blinked. “Mrs. Hastings?” A better question would be, who the devil was Mrs. Hastings? Unless . . . “Oh. You must mean Mrs. Hopkins.”
“Hopkins?” Ethan frowned, then waved an impatient hand at her. “Yes, very well. Hopkins. Where the devil is Mrs. Hopkins? Why hasn’t she presented herself to me?”
“Allow me to apologize on Mrs. Hopkins’ behalf, Lord Devon. I’m certain she would have presented herself to you at once, aside from one small difficulty. She’s dead.”
“Dead?” He gave her a blank look. “How unfortunate.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Nearly two years ago now.”
He pondered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose she’s excused, then.”
“Are you quite certain? Because I could send a footman to fetch her, if your lordship insists.”
His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm, but Thea only raised an eyebrow at him, her chin in the air. For pity’s sake, was this how aristocrats behaved in London? She wouldn’t overlook such rude arrogance even if he were a duke.
Blast it, this wasn’t at all how she’d imagined this moment unfolding. She’d had more than one girlish fantasy about the day Ethan would return to Cleves Court, but never once had she dreamed he’d appear in the middle of the night, half-sotted and shouting obscenities. Now he’d gone and ruined all her lovely daydreams.
“What the devil are you doing at Cleves Court, Miss Sheridan? Did my father appoint you the new housekeeper? That’s just the kind of foolishness I’d expect of him.”
Thea’s chin rose another notch. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to put on airs, but there wasn’t anything foolish about her position here. She’d accomplished a great deal for an orphan of uncertain birth. Lady Isabel, Ethan’s mother had taken a fancy to Thea when she was six, and brought her from the local orphanage to live at Cleves Court. Her ladyship had been practical enough to have Mrs. Hopkins train Thea as an upper housemaid, and later as housekeeper. The countess had looked upon her as a daughter, so Thea hadn’t been a servant back then, but she knew how to manage a great house.
“Your father offered me the position after Mrs. Hopkins passed, yes. As to whether it was foolish or not, that’s a matter of opinion. I love this house. He knew it, and I believe he thought I’d take good care of it. I have, after all, been here since I was a girl.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Miss Sheridan. How could I forget? You were a regular little hoyden then, and if what I witnessed tonight is any indication, you haven’t changed.”
Thea smiled over her clenched teeth. “Just what is it you suppose you witnessed that was so shocking? That is, if I may be so bold as to ask a question of your lordship.”
“Let me see. First, there’s the matter of smashed crystal, and the punch spilled all over my boots. They’re ruined, and that’s to say nothing of my breeches.” He stood up and waved a hand in front of his lower body. “Look at me, for God’s sake.”
For one moment Thea let herself linger on the sight of Ethan’s long, muscular thighs in his tight, buff-colored breeches, but then she tore her gaze away. No, it was best for all concerned if she didn’t look at him. He might be as infuriating as every other arrogant earl now, but Ethan had always been the most tempting man she’d ever seen, and that hadn’t changed. Looking into his bright blue eyes was risky enough, and no woman could gaze upon that silky golden hair without itching to run her fingers through it, but as tempting as they were, it was safer than ogling his pelvic region.
She cleared her throat. “It’s a lot of fuss over a pair of boots, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you, but allow me to enlighten you, Miss Sheridan. It’s not possible to make too much of a fuss over a pair of Hoby boots. But let’s move on, shall we? There’s the matter of those two young villains engaged in fisticuffs in the middle of my drawing-room, and then that other one—that tiny chit who nearly set the house aflame with a handful of bloody raisins.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. There’d hardly been a spark, much less a flame. “Fires and fisticuffs, my lord? One would think you’d be used to it by now. Surely such things must happen every day in London.”
“In the rookeries, yes. I’m accustomed to more refined company than that. Still, perhaps Cleves isn’t so different from London, after all. Servants stealing from their masters is quite common in the grand houses there, as well.”
Thea’s cheeks heated with anger. No matter how long it had been since they’d seen each other, he should know better than to suggest such a thing. “Do you truly believe I stole from you?”
She searched his face, looking for any sign of that tender-hearted boy he’d once been in the man standing before her now. For the briefest moment he looked uncertain, but then his face hardened. “You were having a Christmas Eve party at my house, at my expense, without my permission. What do you call that, if not stealing?”
Thea kept her voice calm, even as she imagined beating him about the head with her boughs of holly. “I did have permission.”
“From bloody who? Not me. I thought the damn place had been shut down two years ago, after—” He broke off, cleared his throat. “And it damn well should have been shut down, the very second the family abandoned it for London. Imagine my surprise, Miss Sheridan, when I found out from a friend who’d recently been to Cornwall that my father hadn’t closed the house, after all.”
Thea hesitated. The old earl had his own reasons for his actions, but Ethan wasn’t ready to hear them. “Your father decided to keep it open. Two years ago, before he left for London he set aside a sum of money for the management of Cleves Court, and gave me leave to do as I saw fit with it.”
“Ah. But you see, Miss Sheridan, my dear father is dead, so we’ll have to excuse him on the same grounds we’ve excused poor Mrs. Hastings, or Mrs. Hopkins, or whatever the devil her name was. The question is, why is the house still open now, a year after his death?”
Thea gave him a thin smile. “As to that, I expected every day to receive a letter from you with orders to close the house, but the funds arrived just as always this year. No letter ever came, and of course it’s not my place to question the Earl of Devon.”
“Not your place?” His laugh was incredulous. “Forgive me, Miss Sheridan, but I’ve never known that to stop you before.”
A sharp retort hovered on Thea’s lips, but she hesitated and forced herself to draw a calming breath. It was difficult for Ethan to be here at Cleves Court—she knew that better than anyone—and he looked weary, the lines around his mouth drawn tight with tension. “Let’s not argue, my lord. I’ll see if I can explain it more clearly. Mrs. Hopkins passed away not two months after . . . after Andrew’s accident—”
Before she could say another word he was around the desk, his hands grasping her shoulders. “I will not speak of him, and neither will you. Do you understand me?”
His face was mere inches from hers, and Thea shrank back, away from the pain in his eyes. “Yes, I—I won’t do so again.”
He stared down at her, his blue eyes wild, but after a moment he squeezed them closed and dropped his hands. “I—I beg your pardon. It’s this damn house. I hate the very sight of the cursed place.” He moved to the window and gazed outside for a long time without speaking, his back to her, his shoulders rigid. “I don’t want . . . I shouldn’t be here.”
Thea’s heart sank. This was the only place he should be, but nothing had changed. He still didn’t understand the house wasn’t the trouble.
It never had been.
“Cleves Court is lovely at Christmastime,” she said, to break the silence. “Perhaps while you’re here you’ll remember—”
“No. I didn’t come for Christmas.” He turned to face her. “The moment I found out the house was open I left for Cornwall at once, the holidays be damned. I came only to see to it the place is shut down for good.”
Thea gripped the side of the desk to stay upright as all the blood drained from her head at once. Oh, God. She’d known this day would come. She’d told herself she was prepared for it, but the moment he said those words aloud, she went dizzy with shock. “No. Please. You—you can’t do that, Ethan.”
“I’m not Ethan to you anymore. I’m the earl, Miss Sheridan, and I can, and will, shut down this house. I never come here. It’s too far from London, and it costs a bloody fortune to keep the place up.”
“This has nothing to do with the money.” Thea’s hand searched out the thin gold chain at her throat, and she traced her fingertips over it to calm herself. “You know it doesn’t—”
“You’ll need to inform the other servants at once,” he interrupted, not looking at her. “I plan to return to London within the week, so we’ll begin tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! But tomorrow is Christmas Day!”
“What of it?” He waved a hand toward the drawing-room. “You’ve had one celebration that nearly sent the house up in flames. I grant you it would be a neat way to get rid of the old pile, but not safe, for all that.”
“You expect me to tell your servants, on Christmas Day, that each and every one of them is going to lose their place?” Thea’s voice was shaking. “When shall I do it, Lord Devon? Before we leave for church in the morning, or shall I wait until Christmas dinner to let them all know we’re to be turned out of the only place many of us consider our home?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll see that they’re taken care of, of course. They’ll all get references, and a generous gift.”
“References to where? Cleves is a tiny village, my lord. This is the only estate for miles. It’s not just the servants who will suffer. The town won’t survive if you close down the house.”
“I’m sorry for it, but that’s not my concern.”
Thea stared at him, her fists clenched against the wave of sadness that washed over her. He’d looked like an angel as a boy, with his thickly-lashed blue eyes and that mass of unruly golden hair, and he was still so unbearably handsome it hurt to look at him, but if Ethan ever had been an angel, he wasn’t one anymore.
Dear God, what had happened to him? She wanted to believe he didn’t mean what he said, but his mouth was rigid, and his blue eyes were ice cold.
He did mean it. Every word.
She fought down a wave of panic. If she couldn’t find a way to convince him to keep Cleves Court open, the town would die a quick death. What would become of the orphanage, the children? Henry and George, and little Martha . . .
The orphanage! Of course. How could she have forgotten? “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be. This is—”
“Yes, yes. This is your house. You’ve made that clear enough, but you’ve arrived here at Christmastime with no warning at all. If you’d told me to expect you I’d have known not to enter into any obligations, but as it is—”
“Obligations?” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. “What obligations would those be?”
Thea drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to care for what she had to say, but there was no help for it, and it would give her some time to figure out how to change his mind about Cleves Court. “To take charge of a few of the orphans until the orphanage roof can be repaired.”
“Orphans? What, you mean those two little brawling devils, and that wild-looking chit who tossed blazing raisins around my drawing room?”
“Henry, George, and their sister Martha, yes. They’re really very sweet children. A little high-spirited, perhaps, but lovely in their own ways—”
“Undo it.”
She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Undo it. Un-promise it. Find another place for them.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, my lord.”
“You keep saying that, Miss Sheridan. I don’t much care for it.”
“My apologies, but there is no other place for them. A tree came down on the orphanage roof during a severe storm last month. All the children had to be moved out. A few of them are staying with other families in Cleves, but we have the most room by far.”
“Take them to an inn, then. I’ll pay for it.”
Thea’s mouth fell open. “You want to leave three orphan children alone at a public house? At Christmas?”
He hesitated as if he were actually considering it, but then he threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, bloody hell. No, I suppose it won’t do.”
He had the grace to look somewhat ashamed of himself for making the suggestion, and Thea took the opportunity to press her advantage. “Even if we did put them up at the inn, I’m afraid it’s not that—”
“Don’t say you’re afraid it’s not that simple, Miss Sheridan. I beg you.”
“Very well, then I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that. Part of the building flooded when the roof collapsed. Many of the children lost all their belongings, and they had precious little to begin with. The entire village has been generous with funds to repair the roof, and with donations of food and clothing for the children, and we’re to host a few holiday events here at Cleves Court to thank them. It’s all arranged.”
“Orphans.” Ethan blew out a disgusted breath. “It had to be bloody orphans.”
“Yes, well, I do apologize for the homeless orphans, your lordship. Their plight truly is most inconvenient for you. But I’m certain the repairs will be completed by the end of January, or perhaps a bit later than that—”
“You have twelve days.”
“Twelve days! But what if the roof isn’t finished by then?”
“If the repairs aren’t done, you’ll have to take the children to the inn, after all.”
“You’re mad! I can’t take three young children—”
“Twelve days, and not a day more. And another thing, Miss Sheridan. During those twelve days, I will not be subjected to that bloody song, the “Twelve Days of Christmas”. I forbid anyone to play it in this house.”
“But that’s absurd! It’s a perfectly charming song, and so festive. What rational objection can you possibly have to the Twelve—”
“Charming, festive things irritate me.”
“Everything irritates you, Lord Devon.”
“I am the earl, Miss Sheridan, and I’ve forbidden it. Now, I have business in London in mid-January. I will leave Cleves Court the day after Twelfth Night, and I promise you.” He fixed her with a cold, blue-eyed stare. “I will leave this house dark and empty behind me, and never look back.”
It won’t help, Ethan.
An empty house, a locked door—neither would allow him to escape his past. His ghosts would follow him, but he’d have to find that out for himself, just as his father had. All she could do was pray it wasn’t too late when he did.
Ethan wandered back over to his desk and dropped into the chair. His eyes narrowed on her. “One would almost think you’d arranged this whole thing to test my temper.”
Thea snorted. “You give yourself far too much credit if you imagine you didn’t fail that test the moment you walked through the door and began cursing in front of the children.”
“Bloody orphan children. Perhaps I’ll go stay at the inn myself.”
Thea hurried across the room after him. “What, the Duke’s Head? No, no, you can’t possibly stay there, my lord. They’ve been overrun with mice, and I’ve heard the sheets are damp. No self-respecting duke would ever be seen there, and it won’t do for an earl, either.”
She hadn’t heard any such thing about the sheets, but if she was going to remind Ethan of everything he used to love about Cleves Court, she needed him to stay here. “We have a comfortable bedchamber here for you. Becky is making it up right now.”
Whether she could convince him was another matter altogether.
She studied him from the corner of her eye as she built up the fire. Goodness, he looked grim, rather like a bad-tempered bear, but surely that playful, affectionate boy he’d been couldn’t have disappeared entirely. He’d been happy here once, long ago. This house had been his home before Ethan’s brother Andrew became ill, and before the old lord left and Lady Isabel died of a broken heart.
If she could help Ethan remember what it had been like back then, when they’d been loud and merry, their lives full of friendship and love and family, then he’d see why he couldn’t abandon Cleves Court forever. If he ever was able to see it, it would be now, at Christmastime, when the house was at its most magical.
She turned away from the fire to give him a bright smile. “Until Twelfth Night, then. Once the holidays are over and the children are settled, we’ll prepare to—to close down the house.” She had to force the words past the lump in her throat.
He didn’t reply right away, but after a moment he reached into his greatcoat, pulled out a silver flask, and set it on the desk before him. “Is there whiskey in the house?”
“Yes, of course.” Whiskey, and brandy for punch, and evergreens for decorations, and anything else one might need for a memorable holiday. “Plenty of it.”
Ethan tipped the flask upside down, and a single drop fell onto the polished wood of the desk. “Bloody good thing.”
Thea let out a heavy sigh as the frown on his face stretched into a fierce scowl. “I couldn’t agree more, your lordship.”