Page 24 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
Adam surveyed the room, feeling rather proud that he did not run screaming in the other direction. This house party was causing him to feel a continual jolt of nerves every time he came into a room. He tried to convince himself it was because of his lack of social experience recently, but he knew, in reality, it was the young lady in the centre of the table that was the cause.
Emilia’s hair was tied back in a simple ribbon today, a burnt orange colour to match her dress. Adam cleared histhroat several times when he realised he had followed the ribbon all the way down her neck and over her shoulder twice.
Forcing his gaze away, his eyes fell on his aunt, who was sitting beside Lionel. Augusta looked at Adam pointedly and glanced at Lady Seraphina, who had just taken a seat beside Emilia. Adam clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders.
He stoically went to the edge of the room to get his breakfast and determined to try and say as little as possible, unless Lady Emilia happened to speak with him.
From the opposite side of the table, Lionel buttered his toast and watched his cousin out of the corner of his eye. He knew his mother was trying to foist Adam onto Lady Seraphina and hoped that his cousin would take the initiative and sit at the other end of the table.
But he found himself distracted from his irritation with his mother when Miss Fairfax joined them, sitting opposite him with a demure smile.
To his delight, Miss Fairfax handed him a small leather-bound book.
“What is this?” he asked, enchanted to receive a gift from her.
“It is not mine,” Miss Fairfax said, her full lips curving in an apologetic smile. “I asked Emilia if she would mind lending it to me some weeks ago and I had intended to return it. However, before I do so, I wondered if you had read it?”
Lionel scanned the cover, noting the works of John Keats.
“I have not. Is it poetry?” he asked.
“It is. Some of the best I have read.”
“I thank you;” he said, examining the spine, “it is a very slim volume.”
“Keats has only published a few works so far, but I dearly hope he will do more. Emilia and I have been reading them together. It’s better than Blake.”
“Scandal!” Lionel said with mock outrage, and Miss Fairfax laughed prettily as she poured herself some tea.
“Pray, read it and tell me what you make of it,” she said.
“I should very much like to do the same,” Lionel’s mother piped up beside him. “I have been told of Keats myself, although the teller felt he was rather overblown and decidedly odd.”
“All the best poets are, Mama,” Lionel said teasingly and caught Miss Fairfax’s eye as he did so. He felt a violent jolt of desire in his chest as she smiled and looked down at her plate.
She was by far the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He had never been given a gift by anyone but his mother before and wished it were for him to keep. He had a foolish notion he would have it in his inner pocket, keeping the thought of her close to him all day.
Charlotte was thrilled as she watched the emotions bloom across Lord Spencer’s face. The night before, she had asked Emilia rather reluctantly if she might continue lending the volume a while longer. Unfortunately, their friendship was such that Emilia teased her relentlessly when she found out who she wished to lend it to. Charlotte felt that the cat was rather out of the bag when it came to her affection for Lord Spencer. Emilia was not stupid enough to believe she did not admire him.
“Lionel, you will read that book away from the table!” Augusta said suddenly, and Lionel bowed his head like a penitent child and put the book in his pocket.
As he did so, however, he caught Charlotte’s eye, and their gazes held for a long moment that seemed to stretch endlessly. As he kept looking at her, he smiled gently and patted hispocket. It was a tiny gesture, something no one else in the room would have seen, but it was a silent acknowledgement that he treasured her gift and would keep it close to him.
Charlotte barely tasted the food on her plate for the rest of the breakfast, her heart swelling to such a degree she could barely keep her own happiness from spilling out into the room.
After breakfast, the ladies returned to the drawing room to make Christmas wreaths.
It was a beautiful spread that Emilia had not seen for some time. Her mother appeared to have brought the entire garden into the little room, and the air was filled with the smell of pine and fir trees.
Many of the ladies present were so excited by the prospect of all this greenery that it took quite some time to get everybody seated. When she did manage to take her seat beside Charlotte, however, Emilia was distracted and could not manage her own wreath well at all.
The ivy and the holly that she was trying to place in a pleasing pattern about the laurel were sticking out at odd angles, and she could not get it to sit right. Charlotte, on the other hand, who was usually very bad at anything creative, had excelled herself. Her wreath was beautiful and perfectly proportioned.
“Are you alright, Emilia?” Charlotte asked. “Ignore them all if you can. They are wicked things.”
Emilia, who had just pricked her finger violently on a holly leaf, glanced at her in confusion. But it was abundantly clear to whom she referred as the giggling that had been on the edge of her hearing rose in volume as the duke’s three daughters leaned together at their table.
One of them appeared to be mimicking Emilia’s wreath by pushing haphazard pieces of foliage into her own, at which point they would all shriek with laughter.
