Page 8 of Lady in Ruby
“No one’s been harmed,” Caroline said. “And Lord Snowdon has already apologized. Unless you intend to call him out over the slight?” she teased.
“Of course not,” Francis said, still sulky.
“Then let’s forget about it. Perhaps you’d better get some of the mulled wine before it’s gone.”
He took his cue and sailed toward the drinks. Snowdon asked, “Is that typical?”
“Francis’s reaction? No, not at all.”
“Francis, is it,” he noted. “Do you have an understanding?”
She blushed. She should not be using Francis’s first name so freely. She said quickly, “Heavens, no. We practically grew up together. I suppose I’m just used to calling him what I called him when we were children.”
Snowdon nodded, but asked no more, and then the vicar and his wife came up and began to chat, until her grandmother appeared and shooed them away. (Caroline was quite certain that her grandmother could banish a ghost just by glaring at it.)
“You are certainly looking very mature,” her more cranky grandmother noted, looking hard at Caroline. “It’s a good thing those rubies bring out the color in your cheeks to prolong the last bit of bloom.”
“Oh, thank you for that,” Caroline replied wryly. “Shall I prop up my coffin in the corner so my posture is straight?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” her grandmother chided. “Such wit in the young is not endearing.” Annoyed, the old lady strode off in search of new prey.
Caroline sighed. This evening was not going well.
“The problem, as I see it,” Lord Snowdon said softly, “is that not everyone appreciates wit, which can be very endearing.”
Caroline was mollified by this, but she got swept away by Estelle before she could pursue the matter. Estelle stuck to her side for the rest of the evening, and resolutely did not even look at Mr Stockan, though Caroline could see him looking at Estelle. Perhaps she could engineer a moment where the two of them would have to stand under some mistletoe together. That could hasten a courtship along.
Thinking of courtship, she caught Lord Snowdon’s eye from across the room, where he was speaking with her father. Snowdon gave her a secret smile before he continued his conversation.
His smile quite melted her heart. For a lord, Snowdon was awfully approachable. And very charming. Really, he was everything a girl could wish for.
In fact, he was everything she had wished for.
Hmm. He loved animals and loved to travel. Blue eyes, with light blond hair. Tall and icy in demeanor.
“I don’t trust him,” she announced suddenly.
“What? Who?” Estelle asked, not being privy to Caroline’s thoughts.
“Come with me,” Caroline whispered, pulling Estelle along with her as she left the drawing room for the much cooler foyer. There she turned to Estelle and said, “Snowdon.”
“But…why? He seems like a perfect gentleman.”
“I know,” Caroline said. “He’s too perfect. That’s why I don’t trust him. There must be something dreadfully wrong with him. If you asked an artist to paint a perfect gentleman, they would paint Lord Snowdon.”
Estelle sighed in exasperation. “What are you suggesting, Caroline? That he’s a fraud? Your papa would never allow anyone suspicious near you, let alone permit him to stay as a guest in the house!”
“I’m not saying he’s a fraud,” Caroline clarified. “I’m just saying that it’s a bit strange…this gentleman arriving on my doorstep only hours after I made a snowman in much the same image.”
Estelle raised an eyebrow. “You are not serious. You believe the snowman came to life?” Her skepticism made Caroline’s cheeks burn. But she knew there was something off about the perfect gentleman in the next room.
“There’s only one way to be certain,” Caroline declared. “I’m going back tomorrow morning to look!”
Which was exactly what she did. The next day dawned with rose and peach in the eastern sky, though heavy clouds were sweeping in from the west. Caroline dressed quickly, put on her cloak, and hurried out the side door of the house, avoiding the attention of her mother, who’d ask a lot of questions. Mothers were always full of questions!
Caroline walked quickly through the woods, along the same path she’d taken with Estelle yesterday. When she reached the clearing, she stopped in shock.
The snowman—her snowman, the one she built so lovingly and made into her ideal—was nowhere to be found.
