The Scandal Before Christmas Read Free

trepidation.
    But damn his eyes and his rising pulse, he would see it through. He would make it work.
    Ian temporarily pushed all thoughts and concerns about Ross from his mind, and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He gave his coat a firm, surreptitious tug—his long-suffering mother would have been near giddy at the change in his attire. Normally, he didn’t give two farthings for his appearance, but today he had taken care to tog himself in his best dress uniform bedizened with the gold braid. And his man Pinkerton had polished his Hessian boots to a blindingly glossy shine. All ridiculous vanity to look his best for Miss Lesley.
    Ian let the winter wind chill the heat in his face, and took a deep, calming breath. Then he plastered his inscrutably professional naval officer’s smile upon his face, and prepared to meet his fate.
    Colonel Lesley was the first to alight from the hired coach. He greeted Ian warmly, much as he had at Portsmouth—“Worth, my boy”—and then turned to assist his wife from the carriage.
    Mrs. Lesley proved to be an exceptionally short woman of indeterminate middle years, who was clearly enamored of the sound of her own voice. She greeted Ian so effusively, he was nearly blown aback by the ceaseless chatter. “Oh, Lieutenant Worth. How very nice to meet you at last. I’m sure I’ve heard ever so much about you from the dear colonel. I’m sure I don’t know how to thank you for the invitation to spend a few days here by the sea. So thoughtful! I’m sure the sea air will do me no end of good. I said to my dear colonel, I said…”
    If the daughter proved herself to be anything in the same pattern as the mother, he would have to learn to like staying out to sea.
    “… how much nicer it is to visit a private home than to stay at an inn. Oh, what a lovely house you have here. Very pretty property. No, no,” she said, directing her servant girl. “We’ll leave the bags for the footmen. I’m sure the lieutenant has footmen enough, him being a viscount’s son.”
    Actually, despite being a viscount’s son—or perhaps because of it—Ian hadn’t footmen at all. Old Angus Pinkerton normally acted as butler, valet, and cook all in one, but Pinky had wisely convinced Ian to bring on a local woman, Mrs. Totham, as a cook, along with her two stout daughters for the scullery, laundry, and cleaning for the duration of the Lesleys’ visit. He had assumed the Lesley ladies would bring a servant, or servants of their own, but there appeared to be only the one maid, hovering at the side of the carriage, whom he hoped could be impressed into serving at table for dinner—neither Pinky, with his odd assortment of sailorly clothes, nor the Totts, as he had come to call Mrs. Totham and her daughters, were fit to be seen in a drawing or dining room. As a habit, Ian had never kept comely, or even presentable young girls on staff at Gull Cottage. Not with his ramshackle friends.
    “Well now.” Mrs. Lesley recalled Ian from his contemplation of servant problems by taking up the arm he had yet to proffer. “I thank you for your assistance, lieutenant. It is so nice that you are such a tall, strong, young man. A young man ought to be tall if he can help it, I always say. Well,” she repeated breathlessly as she puffed up the three short steps to the front door. “It is so fatiguing, all this travel. A body can get no rest with all the swaying and bumping and jostling. All the way from Somerset…”
    She towed him along in her wake, swaying and bumping and jostling him so forcefully that he hadn’t even had a moment to catch a glimpse of her daughter. And there had to be a daughter. She was the whole reason for the visit. The tholepin of his future. “And Miss Lesley, ma’am?”
    “Oh, she’ll get my satchel. You needn’t carry it for me.”
    Well, damn his inattentive eyes. He had assumed the girl by the carriage was a servant from Mrs. Lesley’s tone of voice. But Mrs.