A Countess by Christmas by Annie Burrows Read Free Book Online Page A

can tell you.’
    Helen had never felt more uncomfortable than to hear the erroneous assumption her aunt had made.
    Yet she did nothing to correct it. It would mean making too many explanations, which she was not sure would be helpful to anyone.
    Fortunately it took quite some time to run Mr Cadwallader to ground, by which time Helen had managed to regain her composure.
    Though he had dined with the guests, he had retreated almost immediately afterwards to a small book-lined room in the servants’ hall.
    ‘I am so sorry to bother you,’ she said, knocking upon the door and putting her head round without waiting for him to reply, ‘but I was wondering if it would be possible for me to have a private interview with His Lordship. As soon as possible. At least…before whatever time you have arranged for him to speak with my aunt.’
    Mr Cadwallader looked up from the pile of papers he was working on and frowned.
    ‘Miss Forrest, is it not?’ He flipped open a leather-bound ledger and ran his finger down the page at which it opened. His brows shot up. ‘Miss Helen Forrest?’
    ‘Yes.’ She nodded.
    ‘It appears His Lordship has already anticipated your request. He has your name here for seven o clock tomorrow morning.’
    ‘He has?’ She swallowed nervously. What did that mean? And was it a coincidence that he had her namedown for seven? The approximate time at which she had run into him on the backstairs that very morning?
    Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Good. Wh…where shall I…?’
    ‘Oh, you had better come in here, if he wishes to speak with you that early,’ said the young man, snapping the book shut. ‘His Lordship always comes down first thing to see to business before—’ He pulled himself up, as though he had been on the point of committing an indiscretion, rose to his feet, and ushered her to the door.
    Helen racked her brains as she returned to her room, but could not come up with any reason why he should have decided to arrange a meeting with her that boded anything but ill for her and her aunt. But at least she could see what he might have been doing on the backstairs. Those stairs were probably the most direct route from his secretary’s office to his own room. He had probably been on his way down to that office, to see to whatever business he needed to get out of the way before…whatever else it was he did all day when he had a houseful of guests. None of whom, to judge by the set of his face at table, were any more welcome to him than she was. Her aunt had hit the nail on the head when she had described him as a man of solitary disposition. It was not only the plainness of his clothing that set him apart from the rest of the persons gathered about that table. An air of complete insularity cloaked him like a mantle.
    And all she had accomplished during the two altercations she’d had with him had been to put herself at the head of the list of people who annoyed him. Oh, bother!Why was she always letting her temper get the better of her? And why did she have to have lost it with him, of all men? It was her French blood, her aunt would have said. She always blamed her French blood whenever she got into mischief.
    She spent another rather restless night, and was pitched even deeper into gloom when she studied her reflection in the mirror the next morning. Somehow she felt that she would have a better chance to make her case without those awful dark smudges beneath her eyes.
    But there was nothing she could do about them. She would simply have to appeal to the Earl’s sense of fair play and hope that the General had not managed to turn him against her aunt at some time during the preceding evening.
    If her own behaviour had not already done so.
    She managed to find her way back down to Mr Cadwallader’s office without a hitch. As she summoned up all her courage to knock on the door, she reflected that at least her experiences here were good preparation for her new role in life. She was having