Page 2 of Snowbound with the Earl
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TWO MONTHS LATER
Graham Birmingham, Earl of Evergreen, did not like house parties. He could tick off the reasons on one hand.
First, house parties were full of people, and he did not like people.
Two, house parties were full of noise, and he did not like noise.
Three, house parties involved numerous daily activities, and he did not like most activities. He preferred reading.
Four, house parties took time away from reading.
Five, he couldn’t think of a fifth reason straightaway, but he had no doubt one would come to him.
Graham had only arrived at Dorsey House the day before, though the party had begun ten days earlier. He hadn’t wanted to come at all, but he felt he had a duty. John, Lord Dorsey, was Graham’s cousin on his mother’s side, and he’d invited Graham for the Christmas festivities these past four years. If Graham refused again, he feared there might be bad blood—possibly evenspilledblood, as his aunt had taken him to task in more than one strongly worded letter last year. And so here he was, standing in Dorsey’s dark-paneled billiards room, watching as Mr. Swinton and Mr. Rummage engaged in a lively game with far more skill than he possessed. John approached with a glass of brandy from one of the decanters on the table near where Graham stood, observing the game.
Graham took the glass and looked down at it. “It’s a bit early for spirits.”
“Never too early,” Swinton remarked as Rummage sent a ball into the corner pocket.
“Don’t put it down just yet.” John motioned for Graham to take a seat before the fire. The weather the past few days had been sunny and cold, but not bitterly so. Last week there had been a light dusting of snow, and Graham had hoped more might fall and give him the excuse of bad roads so he might stay home. But when he’d set out yesterday, the sky had been a cloudless blue with nary a snowflake to be found.
And he’d looked.
“Will I need it?” Graham asked as he sat opposite Dorsey in one of the comfortable, high-backed armchairs.
“You might.” Dorsey angled his chair so the billiards players could not see his face.
“Why?”
“My wife invited Viscountess Bonneville.”
Graham drank the brandy without thinking. He took a breath and forced the hand now gripping the arm of the chair to unclench. “Why?”
“After you accepted the invitation—”
“After?”
Dorsey ignored the hissed interjection. “—Lady Dorsey invited Lady Bonneville, and the viscountess accepted.”
“And you didn’t think I should be informed of her inclusion?” Graham asked in a flat tone.
“Eva said you wouldn’t come if I told you.”
“She was correct.”
“We weren’t certain either of you would attend under the best circumstances. In fact, Lady Bonneville has yet to arrive.”
Thank God for small mercies.
“I wanted you to know her arrival is a possibility.”
“Yes, well thank you for warning me of the ambush after the fact.”
Dorsey rose and took Graham’s empty snifter. “It’s not an ambush, Graham.” He filled the snifter with two fingers, and Graham gestured for him to continue pouring. John ignored him and handed him the snifter with the two fingers of brandy. “Do you not think it long past time you and Lady Bonneville made amends?”
“No.”
