Page 10 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
Nicholas thought for a moment. He hoped he had not forgotten to invite anyone, but all the invitations had received an affirmative reply, and by his estimation, there were still four guests to arrive: The Viscount of Clonagh, Lord Marcus O’Neil, an Irishman and friend of Edgar, Sir Samuel Bennett, a lawyer who had worked for Nicholas’ father, his wife, Harmony, and Miss Constance Kent, the daughter of a business associate of the former earl.
Nicholas was eager to make her acquaintance in the hope of her knowing something about his past.
“Four. I hope they arrive before the roads become impassable,” Nicholas replied.
“And then the actors are assembled,” Harry replied, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes… but I hope they act their parts,” Nicholas replied.
***
The viscount, the lawyer, and his wife arrived a short while later. They, too, had become stranded in the snow, and the Bennetts had ended up sharing the viscount’s carriage, abandoning their own in the village to make the final drive to Ashworth House. All three were relieved to have arrived, and Nicholas instructed hot water to be prepared so all the guests could wash and get warm.
“I swear I’ll catch my death of cold,” Mrs. Bennett said, sneezing, as her husband escorted her inside.
“We’re stuck here now, Nicholas,” the lawyer said.
The Viscount was somewhat more cheerful as to their circumstances.
“Ah… well, tis’ to be expected in winter. Tis’ nay different in Ireland,” he said, whistling a tune as he followed one of the footmen upstairs.
“He’s quite a character,” Harry whispered, and Nicholas smiled.
The Viscount was known for his singing. He had a beautiful voice and an encyclopedic knowledge of old Irish folk songs. He danced, too, and was renowned for the cut of his step on the dance floor.
“He’ll keep us entertained, even if we are to be snowed in here for the season,” Nicholas replied.
It felt strange to have the house so full of people. Nicholas was not used to it. He preferred the peace and quiet of solitude, but if he was to discover the truth about his past, it was a price he would have to pay. The impetus to do so had come with a discovery in the attic of a portrait of his mother, Lady Eleanor. He had looked at it, and it was as though a stranger was gazing back at him.
He knew the rumors about himself, and they had dogged him his whole life. But until that moment, he had refused to believe them, telling himself he was the heir, come what may. But in the portrait, in his mother’s eyes, he found no resemblance to himself, and had been gripped by a sudden desire to know the truth, however unpalatable it might be.
“And now just Miss Constance Kent. What’s she like?” Harry asked, and Nicholas rolled his eyes.
He had been loath to invite Constance to the Christmas gathering. She was spoiled, selfish, and manipulative. And believed, in no uncertain terms, it was her destiny to become the Countess of Amhurst.
She made no secret of such a desire, and had responded to Nicholas’ invitation by telling him it would be a delight to find herself on the estate she considered her second home. The two had been childhood friends, and Nicholas had made the mistake of encouraging her when they were young, sharing his first kiss with her when they were just sixteen.
“Difficult,” Nicholas replied, half hoping Constance might be delayed in the storm, though he would not wish calamity to be visited on her.
She would be a difficult guest, that much was certain, and would make it her business to convince others of her and Nicholas’ shared affections.
“She sounds interesting. They all are…in their own way. Your aunt and cousins, Lady Amelia, and her mother, the Thorntons, the Bennetts, the Viscount; it’s quite a gathering,” Harry said, and Nicholas nodded.
“Yes… it’s certainly that. But will it prove anything?” he asked.
The idea of the Christmas house party had been simple enough. He would bring the protagonists together, entertain them, and hope for the loosening of tongues. One of them was bound to know something about his father’s past or have some connection through their own family to the events of twenty-seven years ago.
Nicholas had never dared ask his father to tell him the truth, though he doubted the old earl would have done so. He had taken it to his grave, and this was Nicholas’ last chance to discover it for himself.
“Only you can know that. Will it change anything for you? What if you discovered your real mother was still alive?” Harry asked.
Nicholas had not thought that far ahead, and he shook his head, not wanting to think about such things, even as he knew the possibility was there.
“Well… we’ll see,” he replied.
Before Harry could reply, the sound of horse’s hooves could be heard on the drive, and Nicholas peered out of the hallway window as a familiar figure came into sight. It was Constance, riding the horse herself, and without a carriage or trap. He hurried to open the door, calling for one of the footmen to assist.
“I had to leave the trap on the moor, we couldn’t go any further. It’s coming down thick and fast,” Constance said, jumping down from the horse’s back as Nicholas caught hold of the rains.
