Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,29

want to return, and her son and new daughter-in-law hadn’t been in any hurry to send her back to her angry husband.

But now he suspected some sort of reconciliation had taken place. Why else would Meg willingly return to a place she’d disliked so much? Meg had not hidden the fact that she’d been miserable traveling to Derbyshire last year. At least, in the beginning. Meg had fought Hector over going. She might have even hated him for dragging her from Cornwall, too. That had all changed, of course, when she’d fallen in love with Lord Clement.

Damned if Hector had seen that coming. Also, damn inconvenient to lose a fellow bachelor to the parson’s noose. He couldn’t even complain or tease him since the man was his brother-in-law. His sister and Clement were devilishly happy, and that was that.

Hector glanced up at the sky. It was still a few hours till total dark. The weather was holding, but he suspected it wouldn’t for much longer. Thankfully, he was almost at The Vynes. He would have his feet up and a drink in hand before a cheery blaze very soon.

When the carriage topped this next rise, they began the descent into the bowl-shaped valley where the great house stood. “There it is,” he said to his companion.

“Very good, sir,” his new valet replied, somewhat sourly.

“Just wait, Parker,” Hector promised. “Christmas at The Vynes will be a jolly good time.”

“Yes, my lord.” Parker wheezed, sending steam across the carriage. “Forgive me. It’s just so cold. I fear my face is frozen.”

“Winter is always cold,” Hector said as he regarded the poor shivering fellow. He’d been in the army or something before coming into Hector’s employ. At the time of the man’s interview, Hector had thought him up to the rigors of his duties in London. But he’d spoken of warm climes and even a hint of danger when he’d been taken on. Perhaps he’d no experience of winter in recent years. “I could have trained up one of the other footmen, but you were adamant you could fill my last valet’s shoes.”

“I’m doing my best, my lord.”

“See that you do,” Hector suggested as they reached the massive front door of The Vynes. Parker didn’t need prodding to exit the carriage first. It was damn cold, and they both looked forward to a night of warmth and comfort before a blazing fire.

Hector got out, stretched, and then shivered as the cold wind cut through his greatcoat. “Damn, that’s a bitter wind blowing.” He looked at his men as they swarmed over the carriage, and then caught the coachman’s eye. “There’s most of a bottle of rum left inside. Dole it out to the men to warm them through when you’re done taking care of the horses and carriage.”

The coachman nodded, “Thank ye, sir.”

He smiled quickly and made his way up to the front door before his face froze. Belatedly, he noticed the door wasn’t already opened for him, and a drift of snow had piled up before it. He yanked on the bell chain, raining ice down on himself in the process from the bell above the door, and then danced about in the cutting breeze until someone finally came.

As soon as the door opened a crack, Hector darted inside. “What took you so long?”

“I beg your pardon?” a man demanded.

Hector narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the servant. “Lord Hector Stockwick. My sister and brother-in-law are expecting me.”

“And who are they?”

Hector blinked, and then looked around himself quickly, concerned for a moment that he’d barged into the wrong great house by mistake. But no. This was The Vynes. Everything was exactly as he remembered from the last time he’d been here—everything except for the servant standing before him. He must be new.

“I am here to see Lord and Lady Clement,” he announced.

The man brow furrowed. “Lord and Lady Clement are not here.”

“Damn, I must have beaten them and arrived first. That’ll give m’sister a turn. I’m never early.”

The fellow cleared his throat. “They are not expected.”

“They damn well are, or I would not have come all this way in the cold for a family party.”

“Who is it, Peter?” an old voice queried from the shadows.

“It’s a Lord Stockwick, asking for Lord and Lady Clement,” the man, Peter, replied.

Hector heard the shuffle of feet coming toward him and looked for the source. He grinned at seeing a familiar face at last—Brown, The Vynes old butler. “There you are, my good man,” Hector cried.

But Hector’s