Page 4 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
Adam took his time finishing his own brandy and went up to bed, a little lighter in step than he had been earlier that evening. Villiers, his loyal and meticulous valet, nodded in greeting as Adam entered his bed chamber and set about assisting him to undress. The man was quiet and polite but did not speak over much, which Adam appreciated.
His mind was still a mess of conflicting emotions as he climbed into bed. He was uncertain about what was going tohappen, and that in itself was unusual. He had organised his life around routine, ensuring that he always knew what the day would bring. The Sternwood party meant uncertainty and unpredictability, and that could spell disaster.
As he sank into the depths of sleep, Anastasia's face swam before him, vivid, loving, and hauntingly beautiful. She was surrounded by the warm glow of Christmas candlelight, a familiar joy in her eyes. He reached for her, looking forward to holding her in his arms again, but as soon as their fingers touched, he awoke with a start.
The night around him was dark and cold, a flurry of snow pattering against the windowpane. His aunt had placed some holly on the mantelpiece above the fire in his room with a tartan ribbon below it, and he scowled at it angrily.
Grief warred with anticipation in his chest. Despite himself, he could not shake the feeling that the party spelled the beginning of something new. No matter how much he dreaded the prospect, it felt like the tides were shifting toward a different future, but it was unclear whether it would be for good or ill.
CHAPTER TWO
Many miles away in Sternwood Manor, Lady Emilia Sterling was lost in Bach’s Concerto in D Minor.
The sun streamed in through the windows beside her, warming her face. It should have lifted her spirits, but she was mired in the past, the music only serving as another reminder of allshe had lost.
Her fingers moved dexterously over the keys of the pianoforte, her eyes closed, her mind shut off from the world around her. The piece wassombre and slow, perfectly suiting her mood.
As it swelled to its crescendo, she felt her right hand falter as her index finger slipped from the keys, and she was catapulted back to two years before. Her jaw clenched at the memory as she returned to the beauty of Countess Blackmoor’s drawing room.
Seats were arranged before the piano, waiting for the concert to come, and Emilia felt the familiar buzz of excitement skittering beneath her skin as she waited for her turn. There was nothing in her life that she loved so much as performing.
The concert had been one of her greatest triumphs, her performance faultless. She had received acclaim from many high-ranking members of the Ton, and as she left the piano, the son of her host, Lord Julian Blackmoor, approached her to praise her accomplishments.
They had enjoyed a lively discussion about the music, and it was wonderful to talk with another enthusiast about her love of the complex arrangement she had mastered and to receive the same passion in return.
But it wasn’t long before she realised, in the excitement of the moment, that she had forgotten her decorum, leaning into Lord Julian as they innocently extolled the wonders of Mozart. When she looked up, she saw Henrietta Darcy watching them with narrowed eyes. Emilia quickly leaned away from Lord Julian and ended the conversation, but the damage was already done.
Fiercely jealous of Emilia’s abilities, Henrietta was her greatest rival. She had jumped at the chance to ruin Emilia on the world stage.
The following day, parlours all over London were rife with rumours that Emilia Sternwood was using her charm to corrupt a married man. Despite Lord Julian and Countess Blackmoor vehemently denying the rumours, it did no good. The invitations Emilia had grown accustomed to receiving, inviting her to perform at the houses of their acquaintances, dried up almost overnight.
The humiliation of the affair had been hard enough for Emilia to cope with, but it was her parents who were most affected by it. As an only child, her musical talents and accomplishments had been a source of great pride to Lord and Lady Sternwood.
It had been Emilia’s greatest shame to watch her parents' hopes for her fade into nothing. At first, they staunchly defended her to anyone who might suggest impropriety. Still, as the rumours grew wider and more vicious over time, the acceptance and support she had felt initially began to wane in the face of public disapproval.
It was soon apparent that any hope of salvaging her reputation had been dashed to pieces.
Emilia abruptly stopped playing. Looking outside into the sun, she felt the burn against her eyes as she tried to regain her composure.
Her fingers lifted from the keys as she took a deep breath, looking out at the frost-bitten gardens before her. The ice was thick upon the ground, and stalactites had formed overnight in sparkling points at the base of the bird bath in front of the window.
Emilia jolted violently as the door to the drawing room opened, and her mother entered. Lady Camilla Sterling swept into the room, careless of interrupting her daughter's practice. She was followed by Catherine, their overeager maid, who carried a large tray laden with tea and cake before her.
Her mother did not apologise to Emilia or even glance in her direction. Emilia’s stomach clenched as her mother sat on the settee, patiently waiting for her daughter to join her, not saying a word.
Catherine bustled about laying the tea down for them and settling a plate of small cakes in the centre before hurrying out. Emilia dutifully rose and made her way to sit opposite her mother.
“That was rather mournful,” her mother said as she poured her a cup. “I prefer it when you play more cheerful pieces.”
Emilia bit her tongue and forced a smile. “I shall play something like that tomorrow then.”
They sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes, Emilia longing for the time when she and her mother spoke for hours on a variety of subjects without pausing for breath, but those days were gone.
Lady Sternwood had always claimed that she understood her daughter’s predicament, that in her heart, she knew Emilia had done nothing wrong. But Emilia still felt that her mother blamed her for the position the Sternwood family now held in society. They were no longer of the elite class they had once enjoyed.
“The Christmas party is approaching us,” her mother said suddenly, lowering her teacup to her saucer and spearing Emilia with a long stare. Her brown eyes were dark and heavy against her copper-coloured hair.
“Yes, Mama, I am looking forward to it,” she lied.
