His Mistletoe Marchioness. Georgie Lee

twice today. The first time, she’d sneered at him and his reputation and accused him of being in search of money, leaving him in no doubt about her opinion of him. The next time, with her standing beside him, her hair swept off her neck and done in ringlets at the back of her head that shivered with each of her delicate movements, she’d lost her sneer and the veil of courage she’d worn when she’d descended the stairs to reveal the grieving woman beneath. Without thinking, he’d laid his hand on hers, recognising her hurt and longing to crush it like a walnut shell. She didn’t deserve to suffer, but to enjoy her youth and the merry season. He’d succeeded for a quick moment in easing a pain he knew all too well, but his comfort hadn’t lasted. Nor had it been enough to change her mind about him, even a little. She remained determined to think the worst of him and make him endure her silence because of it.

      He cast Clara another sideways glance and she paused in her eating, conscious of his scrutiny and quickly meeting his curious gaze before she returned to her fish. He let her go, but not without a great deal of guilt. He’d ruined her Christmas once before by being too open and easy with her when he should have been more guarded and reserved, reminding him of how much she’d changed since they’d last sat at this table together. Back then, she’d been further down the line of precedence and across from him, hindering any chance he might have had to speak with her despite their eagerness to converse. They’d spoken instead through longing glances, smiles and coquettish looks tossed across the table, not careful or caring if anyone else saw them, and it had increased her embarrassment in the end.

      People would whisper again, but this time it would be about the stony silence between them, the one that had already garnered a number of small frowns from Lady Exton from where she sat next to her husband. Once in a while she would comment to Adam who would glance up at Clara and Hugh. He didn’t silently urge Hugh to speak to his sister, but simply offered a few words to his wife before returning to his meal. Hugh set down his fork and picked up the punch he’d requested from the footman. The sweetness nearly made him gag. His failed courtship of Clara had almost cost him his friendship with Adam, he didn’t wish to risk it again by mistaking the brief moment at the bottom of the stairs for something more than a genuine thank you for his having been kind. This silence was intolerable, but he would endure it to keep the peace between himself and Adam and to spare Clara from any derision that his previous lack of discretion had caused her. He had no one but himself to blame for her poor opinion of him and again he cursed his actions of the last three years.

      Hugh took in the other guests who were too engaged in discussion with those around them to notice him, but he caught a few curious looks thrown in his direction now and then. It was clear in the way that many regarded him with sidelong glances that they’d heard the stories about him and continued to wonder if they were true. He would show them they weren’t through his actions and defy all their low expectations, even Clara’s. He was here to begin the slow process of undoing his mistakes in London after Hermione’s death, to rebuild the good name he’d once prided himself on holding, the one he’d carelessly tossed away in his grief. No whiff of scandal could touch him, especially while Lord Westbook was here and no doubt watching for any more stories to entertain other hostesses with. Everything Hugh did this week, especially in regards to Clara, must be above board and if it meant sitting here in silence beside Clara until she chose to break it, then so be it. He’d endured worse things in his duty to the Delamare name. He could endure this even while he wished there was some way he could change it.

      * * *

      At the end of the meal, Lady Tillman led the ladies out of the room while Lord Tillman called for the brandy. The men rose from their places of precedent and took up more informal seats at Lord Tillman’s end of the table. Hugh chose the chair beside Sir Nathaniel, eager to talk to the man who, before his ennoblement, had been a celebrated barrister and who understood the vagaries of the law better than most titled men. The letter informing Hugh that a lawsuit for possession of Everburgh had been filed had forced him out of London as much as his disgust with himself. He might have turned away from duty and responsibility for a while, but he hadn’t given up on it entirely because it wasn’t an easy thing to set aside, nor could he abandon trying to accomplish everything that his father and even Hermione had sacrificed their lives to help him achieve. It might mean more struggle and difficulties, but he would see this through and seize every advantage available to him, including setting his pride aside and asking for help from Sir Nathaniel, Lord Tillman and Adam.

      To Hugh’s dismay, Lord Westbook took the chair on Hugh’s opposite side. He gave the man no notice as he leaned in towards Sir Nathaniel. ‘I understand you once handled a case concerning the signing over of an estate when the signee was in no position to make such a decision and succeeded in having the contract voided.’

      ‘I did.’ Sir Nathaniel leaned forward with his elbows against the table to give them some privacy in their discussion. The rest of the gentlemen sat back, savouring their drinks and the conversation, while Lord Westbook sat ramrod straight in his chair, no doubt watching and listening to everything. Let him hear what Sir Nathaniel had to say, his opinion and all his stupid little stories meant nothing to Hugh. Besides, the pending case was already well known in London and another of the many tales already attached to his name. ‘And I’m familiar with your case.’

      ‘What do you think of it?’

      ‘I think you have a solid one against the enforcement of the contract, should the Scotsman ever produce it. Who’s representing you?’

      ‘No one, yet.’ He couldn’t afford any long, drawn-out payments to solicitors. Everburgh might be clear of debts, but the harvest had not sufficiently recovered enough to provide a robust income. Hugh must continue to economise and endure a few more lean years before he and his estate workers could at last breathe easy, assuming Everburgh wasn’t stolen out from under him. ‘I was thinking of engaging Featherton and Associates.’

      ‘A good firm, but not the one for something like this. You need Allenton and Associates, one of their best barristers used to work for me, I trained him up. He knows the case you’re referring to and has handled other matters dealing with questionable contacts. He’s the best for you.’

      And expensive, Hugh thought, but in a matter like this he could not afford to be stingy. He would find a way to obtain the money to pay for their services, he had no choice. ‘I’ll be certain to engage them.’

      The footman tried to set a snifter of brandy before Hugh, but he waved it away.

      ‘Is there another spirit I can offer you, Lord Delamare?’ the footman asked, eager like his employer to make the guests happy.

      ‘None, thank you.’

      ‘Nothing to warm the soul on a cold night?’ Sir Nathaniel asked, taking up his drink.

      ‘I warmed my soul one too many times on both cold and hot nights to realise I need to return to simpler more noble pursuits, such as my estate.’

      ‘An admirable choice a number of gentlemen would do well to make.’ Sir Nathaniel regarded him with an appraising look, the kind Hugh usually saw in mamas sizing him up at balls as a potential catch before they wrinkled their noses in displeasure and moved on to greener and less tarnished pastures. Hugh waited for Sir Nathaniel to do the same, but instead he took a deep sip of his drink and set it down, more admiration in his expression than reprimand.

      ‘If you’d like, I can write to Allenton and Associates to recommend you to them so you receive their best service,’ Sir Nathaniel offered.

      ‘I’d like that very much.’ This raised his spirits more than brandy ever could. This was not the usual reaction he received from those who’d appraised him of late, especially those with whom he was not well acquainted. There was no reason for Sir Nathaniel to assist him, but Hugh was glad of his kindness and generosity and would do all he could to deserve it.

      It was then Lord Westbook sat forward, his long and narrow face punctuated by a too snake-like smile. ‘I’m sure your turn towards temperance in this and other pursuits will help you a great deal in your case, Lord Delamare.’

      Hugh pinned the man with a hard stare, in no mood to share any of his