One Wicked Winter (Rogues & Gentlemen #6)
Emma V. Leech
One Wicked Winter
“Stir up, we beseech thee,
The pudding in the pot.
And when we do get home tonight,
We’ll eat it up hot.”
-The choir boys plum pudding song.
Chapter 1
“Wherein the stirring of the plum pudding is the least of our hero’s problems.”
The last Sunday before Advent
November 23rd 1817
“What do you mean you’ve never heard of it?” Violette demanded of her husband. She looked away from the view for a moment as the carriage finally turned onto the long, winding path that led to Longwold, the vast and imposing home of her brother, the Marquess of Winterbourne. “Surely you stirred the Christmas pudding as a child?” she added, as Aubrey regarded his indignant wife with amusement.
“No,” he said, shaking his head with the air of a man who’d been much neglected. “Never had such frivolity in the Russell household, I can assure you.”
That was true enough. Aubrey’s father was a strict and joyless man, and Christmas a dull affair. That they were going to be spending that period with her equally bad-tempered brother did not fill him with glad tidings, seasonal or otherwise. However, it was Violette’s dearest wish to return to Longwold and celebrate both their recent marriage and the festive season, and Aubrey wasn’t about to disappoint her. He only hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed either.
“Well then, this will be your first experience,” Violette said, bringing his thoughts back to plum pudding. Apparently ‘Stir it up Sunday’ was a not-to-be missed occasion in the Greyston household. Aubrey tried to imagine Edward Greyston doing something as frivolous as stirring a pudding and failed. He might perhaps throw it at someone, though. Probably Aubrey.
“I wonder if Seymour is here yet?” she continued as Aubrey’s own anxiety began to increase. His grandmother, Lady Seymour Russell, didn’t seem to have the least problem with dealing with the marquess, and treated him with exactly the same bullying tactics she used on Aubrey - to great success. Aubrey couldn’t help but feel such tactics might not fare so well under the man’s own roof. “It seems an age since we saw them last.”
“Oh?” Aubrey replied, his expression mild as his eyebrows shot up. “Have you missed everyone dreadfully? Just this morning I thought you said you never wanted to leave that snug little bedroom.”
Violette snorted and gave him a devilish grin. “Fool,” she muttered, shaking her head so that her blonde ringlets danced. “The past weeks have been ...” She hugged her arms around herself, her smile spreading wider still as she searched for the appropriate word. “Perfection,” she said at last, making Aubrey’s own smile echo hers. “But,” she added, growing serious, “I want to tell them everything you’ve achieved.” She moved suddenly and snuggled up to him, clinging to his arm. “Have I told you how very proud of you I am?”
“Yes,” Aubrey said, feeling his own heart swell with pride and love for his beautiful wife. “Though possibly only once today.”
Violette chuckled and gave a sigh and then exclaimed, pointing as the carriage made its way up the steadily rising road that led to the house. “Look, Aubrey, there it is. There’s Longwold! Isn’t it splendid?”
Aubrey took a breath and realised that her family home was every bit as huge and intimidating as her terrifying brother. But he plastered a smile to his face nonetheless and prayed that the following weeks wouldn’t be as bloody awful as he feared.
***
“Oh, good God, Charlie, why ever did I agree to this?” Edward - Eddie - Greyston, seventh marquess of Winterbourne, demanded of his valet and former bat man. “It’s going to be bloody awful!”
“Oh, give over, my lord,” Charlie scolded as he passed his short tempered master yet another cravat, as he’d just thrown the last attempt to the floor in disgust. “You know you’ve missed Lady Violette as well as I do, an’ besides that, as I understand it, you didn’t agree neither.”
“No, blast it, I didn’t,” Eddie muttered as his big fingers fumbled yet another effort. “The devil!” he swore, flinging another mauled cravat to the ground in fury. He took a deep breath and watched as his patient valet pretended he hadn’t noticed his little tantrum.
Not for the first time, he wondered why the old soldier stuck with him with such dogged loyalty. Fighting side by side for your lives had a strange effect on people, though. They were bound now, each to the other, like it or not. But still, Edward couldn’t help but feel there were easier positions than the one Charlie had found for himself.
He was an odd sort of valet, it was true. He would as readily swear at Edward as bow to him, and lacked many of the necessary skills for the position. There were other skills Eddie prized far more highly than he would any amount of primping from some starched up fellow, though, like a nose for trouble and a swift right hook. But surely there were more even-tempered masters to be found than he?
“She blackmailed me,” Edward continued, his tone dark as he took another pristine white cravat from Charlie’s hands.
“Oh, give it here, for the love of God ... if you would, my lord?”
Edward turned to see a distressed look in Charlie’s eyes as he stared at the cravat, which somehow looked rather mangled already, and he’d only hung it around his neck so far.
“Oh, suit yourself,” Edward replied with an ungracious gesture for him to carry on.
With a sigh of relief, the small, wiry man stepped forward and reached up to tie Edward’s cravat. “And what’s all this my lord business, anyway?” he demanded in irritation, narrowing his eyes at the short fellow before him. “Eddie was always perfectly adequate before now. What’s with all the airs and graces?”
Charlie gave a nonchalant shrug, which only made Eddie narrow his eyes at him more.
Charlie tutted and stood back to regard the cravat with a critical air before moving back to tweak it a bit. “Well, all these bleedin’ nobs you got comin’,” Charlie admitted, looking a little wary. “We both know I ain’t any kinda valet. Not really. Not like all the ones these posh blighters will bring along, I reckon. Jus’ don’t want t’ show you up, I s’pose.”
Edward snorted and stepped back to the mirror to inspect Charlie’s handiwork. “As if I give a damn.” He turned this way and that and had to admit Charlie had a fair hand with a cravat, at least. It wasn’t half bad. Not as dashing as his sister’s handsome new husband’s style, perhaps, he thought with a surge of irritation, but he’d pass muster, at least.