Page 3 of Snowbound with the Earl
John made a face and sat again with his own snifter of brandy. “That’s your choice, of course. The viscountess is a widow now, only a few months out of mourning. My wife felt this party might lift her spirits.”
“Your wife—and you know I adore Lady Dorsey as it’s impossible not to adore her, so forgive me for saying this—your wife wanted to play matchmaker. She had a taste of success a couple of years ago, and she wants another notch on her belt.”
John narrowed his eyes. “My wife does not notch a belt. She only wants—”
“—the best for everyone. It’s her worst quality.” Graham feared he’d said too much, but John burst out laughing, causing Swinton and Rummage to glance their way.
“It’s her bestandher worst quality.” Dorsey finished his brandy and rose. “Well, forewarned is forearmed, my lord. And now I must warn all three of you gentlemen that my wife will be expecting us in twenty minutes for a walk in the woods to gather greenery. So pluck up your saws and scythes and meet in the foyer.” He bowed and retreated.
Rummage sighed. “I believe I will allow Mrs. Rummage to chaperone Anne for this event,” he said. “I’m still done in from the dancing last night.”
“You’re missing the best event of the party,” Swinton said. “I intend to find as much mistletoe as possible and hang it in the most strategic places.” He replaced his cue and started for the door.
Rummage, undoubtedly thinking of his daughter, frowned. “Perhaps I will go along.” He put his cue in the rack and looked at Graham, who hadn’t moved from the chair before the fire. “Coming, my lord?”
“I’ll be right behind you.” But as soon as the door closed, Graham reached in his coat pocket and withdrew a small volume. Finally, he had what he craved—silence and uninterrupted time for reading.
He heard the echoes of voices as the other guests gathered and donned coats, pelisses, scarves, and mittens. Then the cacophony died down as the partygoers embarked on their activity for the day. Graham settled into his chair and his book.
Sometime later he was dimly aware of the sound of hooves and carriage wheels on the gravel drive. He imagined Lady Dorsey had sent for a carriage to retrieve the ladies who were too fatigued to walk back to the house and thought no more about it. He turned the page and continued reading.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice called. “Is anyone home?”
Graham’s head jerked up. He knew that voice.
“Hello? Lady Dorsey? Lord Dorsey? Anyone?”
Graham sat very still, hoping—nay,prayingsomeone,anyone, would greet the newcomer and show her to her chambers.
“Hello?” the voice called again, sounding rather forlorn now.
Graham rose and glared at the door before crossing to it, opening it, and stepping out. Now he knew the fifth reason he disliked house parties.
Noelle Bonneville.
Two
