The Christmas Carrolls by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page A

I want you gone, far gone, where I never have to look on your foul presence again.”
    “But I ain’t got coach fare, nor the blunt to rent a horse. Ain’t been at the livery long enough to get paid, even. I been lucky to get room an’ board.”
    “Your luck just changed.” Joia reached into her reticule and pulled out a handful of coins and pound notes, which she tossed onto the nearest pile of manure. “You won’t mind, I’m sure. Your hands are already dirty.”
    Joia marched out of the stable, holding her skirts away from the dunghills, and her chin as high as a queen’s. Comfort wanted to applaud from his position near the door. He’d been standing by, forcing himself to let the indomitable young woman handle the situation for herself. He knew she wouldn’t welcome interference, just as he realized she needed to feel in command of something, anything, to restore her confidence and composure. Much as it went against his grain, Craighton was letting a willowy, wispy, not-quite-defenseless female fight her own battle. He’d allow her this skirmish, at any rate, as long as she was winning.
    She’d departed triumphant, as the groom scrabbled in the manure heap for his buried treasure. The hedge bird would take the brass and fly, the viscount was sure, though he did intend to check back with the livery owner later. Comfort was about to follow Joia when he heard Tom mutter, “Bloody toffs. The French had the right of it.”
    So the viscount planted one well-shod foot on the groom’s posterior and pushed. Saint George would be proud
     

Chapter Six
     
    There was nothing the Earl of Carroll liked quite so much as a fine dinner among his family and friends, unless it was a cozy dinner with just his wife and daughters. Or a very private meal upstairs in their sitting room with his beautiful Bess. Tonight she was in some purplish taffeta gown that looked stunning with the amethysts he’d given her on their last anniversary. Damn if she didn’t get more lovely every year. And damn this foolishness that had her at the opposite end of a long expanse of silver and centerpieces and serving dishes. Lord Carroll wanted to ask her opinion of the strange undercurrents he was sensing at the table. He’d just have to wait till later, he supposed, when they shared a last sip of wine before bed.
    Something was afoot, though, he was sure. Joia hadn’t joined the guests for sherry before dinner, and when she took her place at the table she was pale and unsmiling, turning down most of the dishes offered to her. Maybe the lass was sickening for something after all. Comfort kept staring at her from across the table, too, as though he was trying to send some kind of silent message, to the obvious displeasure of his dinner partner, that Willenborg female. The earl might have been heartened by Comfort’s interest in Joia, but the chit never returned the viscount’s glance. Lord Carroll supposed that meant they’d be going to London at the end of the month, yet again, dash it.
    Blast, he groused to himself, Joia would never find a more eligible parti, and her poor father’s gout was acting up, for all she cared. Of course, if the gout got so bad that he couldn’t travel ... The earl signaled a footman to pour him another glass of wine, ignoring his wife’s frown from the end of the table.
    In contrast, that clunch Oliver was looking well pleased, though how a man could enjoy his meal with his shirt points poking him in the eye, Lord Carroll couldn’t comprehend. Maybe Oliver’s valet had found a golden boy in one of the noddy’s pockets, for he wasn’t getting any more funds from the estate to keep him happy, cousin’s son or not. No, it was more likely that the gudgeon was in alt over a new waistcoat. The earl went back to his plate so he didn’t have to look at the orange and green monstrosity.
    The chef had outdone himself tonight. Lord Carroll couldn’t decide if the lobster in oyster sauce was his favorite or the