O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,105

come with me…” He gestured to the curved stairway.

The second floor of the castle was luxuriously decorated, with white marble floors and vast ceilings painted with cherubs and other mythical creatures. Arched windows lined the east-facing wall, offering a distant view of the sea. A narrow passageway boasted an elegant hearth with a fire, and Rose counted no less than eight doors—one of which was a double doorway, the sound of laughter coming from within.

Gentry preceded them into the drawing room, announcing their arrival.

As Rose entered the room, she was immediately drawn to an older woman with dark hair with gray streaks, but her face was younger than her years, with intelligent eyes and a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. Another matron stood next to the first woman, and she, too, possessed a calm demeanor that made Rose feel welcome.

Two gentlemen dressed for dinner and a young woman, perhaps a couple of years younger than herself, were also present, gathered near the hearth.

The first woman approached Rose and her brother, holding her hand out in greeting. “Lady Rose. Timothy?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rose curtsied, and her brother bowed as best he could.

“Please,” she said. “Let us dispense of such formalities tonight. You are both very welcome. I am Lady Whitmore.”

“You have a wonderful home, Lady Whitmore,” Timothy said, gazing about the generous space. His attention was drawn to a collection of swords on the far wall.

Lady Whitmore followed his gaze and laughed softly. “You are fond of history?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Please.” She waved her hand. “Go and explore. If there is anything you wish to hold, let Philips, my footman, know, and he will get it down for you.”

Timothy gazed up at Rose, seeking her permission. “Go,” she said with a smile.

Once he was out of hearing, Lady Whitmore looked at Rose again. “He is a dear boy.”

“Yes,” Rose said. “My heart and soul, really.” Her gaze lingered on her brother.

“Your mother was one of my dearest friends, Rose.”

She stared at Lady Whitmore, a lump in her throat.

“Her loss is still fresh in your heart, mine, too. I waited until you came out of mourning to contact your brother, the Earl of Brentley.”

The mention of her elder brother soured her mood. “Joshua is my half-brother.”

“Yes, and not a very good one if I may say so.”

Rose lowered her gaze, ashamed to acknowledge her situation.

“I beg you, Lady Rose.” She took her hand. “There shall be no shame between us. Your circumstances are well known to me. Your mother made arrangements long ago for you and your brother’s welfare, and I am the conservator of you and your holdings.”

“Holdings?”

“Yes. You are not without assets, my dear.”

“The cottage? You are responsible for how lovely it is?”

“You are pleased with it?”

“Pleased?” Tears stung Rose’s eyes, but she held them at bay. “Tis more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“Good.” Lady Whitmore squeezed her hand. “I want you to be happy and comfortable.”

“I am just so. Thank you.”

“Here, let us take a stroll about the room. I have much to share with you.”

Arms linked, they walked slowly, Rose admiring every detail of the room.

“I must apologize for thrusting myself into your life so unexpectedly, my dear. But your mother was adamant about her wishes. She long ago sensed that Brentley would reject you and possibly harm you and your brother. So our connection had to remain a secret until he had no further claim to you and Timothy.”

“Financially?”

“In everything. By denying you, he has legally handed conservatorship to me. Everything is in order, and you are safe. I am your godmother.”

Rose considered the lovely woman. “My fairy godmother?” she whispered.

“Excuse me, my dear. I did not hear you.”

Rose smiled. “A private thought I should not have voiced.”

Lady Whitmore leaned closer. “Some consider me a fairy godmother, for Whitmore is a magical place.”

That delighted Rose to no end. “I look forward to discovering more about it.”

“It would be my pleasure to show you about.”

Rose did not miss the laughter coming from over by the hearth, and she glanced quickly in the direction of the trio. “Who are your other guests?”

“The Earl of Hamby and his sister, Lady Marisa. The other gentleman is Sir Dexter, his best friend. As for the older woman, she is my cousin, Lady Cassandra.”

Although Rose could not guess why she had been invited to join all of them for dinner tonight, the earl commanded her attention. He was exceedingly handsome—curly blond hair, sensual lips with what appeared to be a permanent