All the Pleasures of the Season by Lecia Cornwall Page B

then closed his fingers over them with a smile.
    â€œSo they do. Take them to her, Gilbert. She’ll want to wear them for Christmas.”
    She looked down at Kelton. “He doesn’t look so handsome now, does he? He’ll have quite a bruise when he wakes up.” She turned to Northcott, who stood by quietly, still holding Kelton’s hat.
    â€œHis lordship appears to have slipped on the tiles, Northcott. Best have his coachman step in and fetch him.” She bent and tucked the betrothal ring into his waistcoat, and grinned at Gilbert. “There, that was tidy—and most appropriate, I think.”
    He stared at her, and her smile faded slightly. “What are you waiting for, Mr. Fielding? Carrington Castle is nearly two hundred miles away, and Christmas is only days off. It is quite common for snow to block the roads. You’d better be on your way at once.” She opened the front door herself, since Northcott was busy with the fallen Lord Kelton, and waved him on his way with her handkerchief.

 
    C HAPTER T WELVE
    T he rain turned to snow as Miranda traveled north toward Cumbria and the lakes and fells that surrounded Carrington Castle. Usually Miranda loved traveling through the beautiful landscape, especially at Christmas when the snow blanketed the hills and made everything crisp and magical, and she was filled with the anticipation of all the pleasures of the season: the joy of family and friends, warm fires, merry parties, and wonderful surprises.
    But on this journey, Miranda scarcely looked out the window. She was trying to think of how to tell her grandfather the news.
    â€œLook, my lady, there’s the castle at last,” her maid said, pointing.
    The red stone turrets and green copper roofs glowed against the white snow, and the castle stood like a friendly sentry, looking down over the road as if it had been watching for her arrival.
    â€œOh, Gil,” she murmured as they drove through the gates and up the long driveway.
    In a few days, the pristine carpet of snow that covered the lawns would be marred by the footprints of some two hundred houseguests when they came to celebrate Christmastide—and the wedding of the year—at the duke’s magnificent home.
    There would be a good deal of disappointment, and speculation. Gossip and scandal would surely follow by Twelfth Night and spread the tale far beyond Carrington’s walls.
    Miranda shut her eyes. She’d spent three days imagining what she might say to Carrington, and afterwards how she might explain the situation to the guests. She would have to tell them something , since she could not hide in her room for the whole twelve days of Christmas.
    Goodwin, Grandfather’s butler, hurried down the front steps as they pulled up, wrapping a bright knitted muffler over his black coat.
    â€œWe did not expect you until tomorrow, my lady,” he said, as he handed her out of the coach with a smile, “but it’s a good thing you arrived today. There’ll be more snow overnight.”
    â€œAre Mr. Wilkins’s bunions acting up again?” Miranda asked. The old coachman’s bunions had been accurately predicting Carrington’s weather for forty years.
    â€œHe reports that we can look for a foot or more of snow.”
    â€œKeep him by the fire, and ask cook to send him some of her lineament,” Miranda instructed. “Is my grandfather in his study?”
    Goodwin smiled. “Taking his afternoon nap upstairs. You have time to go up yourself and freshen up, my lady, and have a cup of tea and some of Mrs. Harris’s biscuits to warm you up.”
    â€œThank you,” she said, and lifted her snow-crusted hem to climb the steps.
    â€œMy lady? May I offer congratulations on behalf of the staff? We are all looking forward to the wedding.”
    Miranda’s heart sank. She had forgotten she’d also have to tell the servants, people as dear to her as family, men