Page 119 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Holly ran a critical eye over her gown for the evening.

It was important to Grandmama that Holly look her best.

It was less important to Holly.

She knew that her grandmother was anxious to see her wed. The problem was that Holly found very little could distract her from her sadness around this time of year. And more than that, she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry at all.

Marrying some peer or other would mean that she would leave Northwood. Possibly for some far-flung place.

And if she left Northwood, who would keep Grandmama company? Who would take care of the tenants and the servants?

Father was less interested in the people who relied on him than he was in his own daughter, which was saying a lot.

Still, regardless of Grandmama’s motivation, she had worked hard on bringing this party together, and Holly would do her best to make the dowager viscountess proud.

Her gold-coloured satin gown was simple in its cut with a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves, though the material was embedded with an intricate floral design.

Paired with ivory slippers and ivory gloves, it suited Holly’s colouring well, a perfect foil to her red-gold hair.

When she’d first come out, Holly had hated her hair.

All around her she’d seen perfectly golden English roses or exotic-looking brunettes. She had felt as though she stood out in the worst possible way with her flaming locks.

Now though, she’d learned to live with it.

In truth, her hair had caught the interest of more than one dandy during her Seasons. Grandmama had been thrilled. Father hadn’t noticed.

But when Holly had refused the suit of them all, the viscount had paid attention.

He’d been most put out that the money he’d spent had been for naught.

And when Grandmama had questioned Holly about her decided lack of interest in any of her suitors, Holly hadn’t been able to give much of an answer. She just hadn’t met anyone to whom she’d been attracted.

Well, except for Lord Stockton.

Shamed though she had been, since he was an engaged man, Holly hadn’t been able to help noticing how tall and broad the young earl had been.

How his golden hair had gleamed in the candlelight.

How his brown eyes, lighter than her own, had been flecked with a matching gold.

Beside him, his fiancée had been equally golden, equally lovely.

She’d never learned exactly what happened to Lady Celia. Only that she’d disappeared from polite Society, and that the marriage between them hadn’t happened in the end.

Holly knew the awful, gut-wrenching pain of the loss of a loved one. And if memory served, Lord Stockton’s fiancée had disappeared around this time of year, too.

Holly missed her mother dreadfully, even after all these years.

So, she could only imagine how Lord Stockton must miss his betrothed.

Not that the lady had died, of course. But still, the pain of no longer having someone that you loved in your life was an acute one.

The clock on her mantle chimed the hour, and Holly realised she’d made herself late with her musings.

Straightening the band of pearls adoring her hair, she turned and hurried from the room.

She might not have wanted this party, but she couldn’t embarrass Grandmama by being anything less than the perfect hostess.

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