A Winter Wish (The Read Family Saga #1) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,6
the window up, letting in a sharp blast of cold. “There, that is better,” the earl said, as triumphant as if he’d dealt himself the winning hand in a game of hazard. “Now, where was I?”
“Leaving?”
His father took up the seat he’d abandoned next to Luke’s bed. “Trust me, I’d rather that more than you, my boy. The last place I care to spend my winters is in London.”
Oh, hell and damnation. His stomach sank for altogether different reasons than his overindulgence. “You needn’t.”
“I needn’t,” his father agreed. “Until I received word of you. Just as all of the ton has heard tales of your scandalous escapades. Nay, I’m stuck here.” His eyes narrowed. “With a house full of company.”
With a house full of…
“Company,” the earl finished, confirming Luke had spoken aloud.
“But…”
“No buts. We’ve guests arriving for the holidays, and when they do you will be presentable, the household decorated, and all rumors about your escapades will be laid to rest.” The earl leaned closer, the chair creaking and groaning under that movement as he dropped his palms onto his knees. “Am I clear, my boy?”
“Abundantly,” he said through tight lips.
His father flashed a wide smile that curved up his rounded cheeks. “Splendid, my boy. Splendid.” With that, the earl stood and took his leave.
The moment his father had closed the door behind him, Luke closed his eyes. In four days, the house would be crawling with guests. Nauseating, holiday revelers, at that.
This was the punishment his family was determined to inflict upon Luke for his bad behavior.
He’d been wrong, then, after all. This was to be his hell.
Chapter Two
Merry Read had lived upon the Earl of Maldavers’ properties for nearly twenty years of her life. She’d run through his gardens. She’d pilfered treats from his kitchens. She’d hidden within his French-inlaid armoires.
But never had she set foot inside his Mayfair townhouse.
Of course, she’d enjoyed those former luxuries only because, as the housekeeper’s daughter, Merry had been invisible to the lord and lady of the household.
After all, the servants’ children were invariably shadowy little figures who drifted about, but were never truly noted.
Now, as the butler escorted her through a maze of halls and corridors as winding as the ones in Leeds, Merry took in the austere, regal elegance that oozed from Lord and Lady Maldavers’ residence.
Ornate gold frames hung upon the walls. They filled every space, the articles nearly touching.
Sconces lined the opposite side of the hall. From the gilded waterfall lamps, crystals hung like icicles atop the eaves at wintertime.
In fact, based upon her walk alone, she’d deduced that anything not constructed of gold was crystal, and everything else was a blindingly bright blend of the two.
Any other person wandering these corridors would be hard-pressed to be anything but impressed by the wealthy garnishing on display.
That was, anybody but Merry.
She tried to repress a horrified wince—and failed.
The place exuded wealth, but also coldness. In short, the Holmans’ townhouse personified the family itself quite perfectly.
“Here we are, miss.” The butler brought them to a stop before an open doorway. “The Yellow Drawing Room.” Stepping forward, his back ramrod straight, the young man announced her… to an empty room. “Miss Read.” His voice boomed off the high ceilings.
Merry swept her gaze throughout the room. The Yellow Drawing Room was hardly an apt name for the space. Gold. Every swath of fabric to the trim of the Aubusson carpeting contained gold or gilded accents.
“Well, well, step forward, Miss Read.” The countess’ voice echoed from the far left corner of the drawing room.
Merry found the older woman with her gaze. Seated at a round table, the countess remained engrossed in her task, not even bothering to lift her head in greeting. “You’ve hardly any time before the guests arrive, and therefore, you can hardly afford to stand there tarrying.”
Taking that as an invitation to join Lady Maldavers, Merry marched across the room, but not before she caught a commiserative glance from the butler as he took his leave, closing the doors behind him.
The click of Lady Maldavers’ pen filled the cavernous space.
As Merry stopped at the opposite side of the center pedestal table in mahogany, she craned her neck a fraction in a bid to see what so occupied the older woman’s attention.
She squinted. Alas, it looked like it could be Blackbeard’s map.
At last, Lady Maldavers set her pen down and looked up, a pair of spectacles perched at the far end of her hawklike nose. “I trust you’re quite speechless at