A Summons From Yorkshire (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 1) Read online

Then the enchanting chit took a spot on a white divan in the center of the room and smiled mischievously. “Please do have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Heath and Damien exchanged a glance. What else could they do but follow her lead? Heath sighed as he took a step towards the mysterious chit, but before he could reach her, Damien brushed passed him and dropped onto the divan beside the girl, looking supremely pleased with himself, truth be told.

  Damned Damien Lockwell! How was Heath to get the chit to tell him her secrets with Damien sitting next to her? Frowning at his friend, Heath took a spot in a brocade chair across from the pair.

  He shook his head. What in the world he was doing here? He’d been beckoned to Yorkshire by a strange letter from his friend Drew, only to wind up sitting in a salon across from a pretty girl who seemed intent on torturing him for some reason or another. She said he’d forgotten her. When the devil had he known her?

  Then inspiration struck him. “I would like to see Hardwick,” he said. After all, Drew would tell him who the little minx was, wouldn’t he? That would be the end of her little game.

  A glint shined in her hazel eyes. “I’m afraid Drew hasn’t reached the castle yet, my lord, but he should be here soon.”

  Drew wasn’t at Danby Castle? Where the devil was he then? Heath was just about to ask when another auburn-haired chit swept into the parlor as though she owned the place.

  “Emma, there you are! I spotted a coach—” She stopped in her tracks and glared at Damien. “And just who are you?”

  Emma?

  “That does seem to be the question of hour,” Damien drawled as he rose from his spot and bowed slightly before the girl who looked similar to but not exactly like the one still seated on the divan.

  Heath’s eyes flashed to Emma Whitton, who stared back at him. Emma Whitton! Little Emma Whitton, upon whom he’d once taken pity and had played with her and her dolls. Damn, that must have been a million years ago. A playful smile lifted Emma’s lips as she met his gaze. Dear God, when had Lady Emma Whitton become such an enchanting creature? When had she stopped being the knobby-kneed cherub he remembered from his last visit to the castle? When must that have been? Nine, maybe ten years ago?

  The other girl, who could only be Lady Isabel, cast a dismissive eye on Damien. “Are you one of our absentee cousins come home for the holidays? You don’t look like a Whitton.”

  Damien shook his head. “Damien Lockwell. I’m a friend of Lord Hardwick’s. He invited Lord Heathfield and me to Danby Castle for Christmas.”

  Isabel shot Emma a glance and her twin shrugged in response. “Drew invited you?” Isabel turned her attention back on Damien. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  ~ 3 ~

  “Isabel!” boomed the Marquess of Norland from the threshold. Then he caught Heath’s eye, and a genuine smile lit the older man’s face. “I didn’t know we had visitors. Heathfield, is that you?”

  Heath rose from his spot and offered his hand to the twins’ father. “Good to see you, Lord Norland. It has been an age.” He gestured to Damien with a cock of his head. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Lockwell?”

  Norland’s gaze shifted to Damien and he nodded. “Not formally. You’re one of Totterdown’s lads, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed,” Damien replied. “Third son, to be exact. I attended Eton with Drew and Heath.”

  “Did you?” the marquess asked. His demeanor changed slightly, more rigid at the mention of his oldest son.

  “Drew invited…the two of us to spend the holidays here at the castle,” Heath added.

  Norland’s dark eyes flashed back to Heath. “You’ve heard from Andrew?”

  “Well—” Emma hastened to her father’s side— “I’m certain Drew was simply being solicitous, since Lord Heathfield would be all alone for Christmas otherwise.”

  Almost word for word a line from Drew’s letter. “That did appear to be his concern.” Heath glanced at the cherub-turned-siren. She’d been expecting him, clearly. Had Drew sent word to her about his arrival? Or was something nefarious afoot at Danby Castle?

  Lord Norland took a deep breath, one that seemed to Heath to be filled with relief. “I am glad to hear it. Edgeworth must have located him in France, then.”

  “Edgeworth?” Lady Emma echoed. “Grandpapa sent him to France? How very dangerous. When did he leave, Papa?”

  The marquess shot his daughter a withering glare. “Nothing for you to worry about, my dear.” Then he turned his attention back to Heath and Damien. “I do have a bit of business to attend to. I’m certain my aunt—” he glanced at the old woman in the corner who still hadn’t acknowledge anyone’s presence— “and my daughters can keep you gentlemen entertained.”

  “We’ll try our best, Papa,” Lady Emma promised.

  Heath could think of worse things than being entertained by the bemusing Emma Whitton. He had a feeling he would enjoy any sort of entertainment she could come up with. “Do you still have your doll collection, my lady?”

  Her hazel eyes brightened and her smile nearly lit the room. “You do remember.”

  “Doll collection?” The marquess glanced from his daughter to Heath.

  “It’s nothing, Papa,” Lady Emma assured him. “Lord Heathfield is simply jesting.”

  “Well, I should hope so,” Norland replied. “A grown man playing with dolls is unseemly.” Then he narrowed his eyes on his other daughter. “Isabel, I nearly forgot. Your mother is searching for you. Perhaps you know why.”

  If Lady Isabel knew why, she didn’t let on. She simply stared wide-eyed at her father. “I have no idea.”

  The expression the marquess shot his daughter made it clear Norland didn’t quite believe Lady Isabel’s protestation. “Best you go and find her, Izzy.”

  “Of course, Papa.”

  ~*~

  As soon as her father and Isabel departed the parlor, Emma found herself once again alone with the two gentlemen, but she only had the attention of one of them. Fortunately, the gentleman whose eyes sought hers belonged to Lord Heathfield. The success of her plan thus far nearly made her giddy. “I stopped playing with dolls long ago, my lord.”

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “You seem to have grown up when I wasn’t looking.”

  “Well, you weren’t looking for quite a while.” Not once had she seen him since she was ten years old.

  “Do excuse me,” Mr. Lockwell suddenly said as he started for the exit. “I will find you later, Heath.” Then he was gone before either of them could utter a reply.

  Emma stared after the departing man, then focused her attention back to the viscount she had duped into visiting Danby Castle. “Where do you suppose he’s off to?”

  Heathfield shrugged. “Lockwell always keeps his own counsel.”

  “Hmm.” Emma returned to her spot on the divan. “He must be a close friend of Drew’s for my brother to invite him to spend the holidays with us.” Or rather he must be a close friend to Lord Heathfield’s for the viscount to have dragged his friend north with him for Christmas.

  Heathfield agreed with an incline of his head. “Indeed, he’s known Drew forever.” Then he took a seat beside her on the divan, and Emma’s breath caught slightly in her throat.

  She’d waited so long to see Heathfield again, and now that he was here, right beside her, she felt like the luckiest girl in all of England. His dark blue eyes, like the night sky just before twilight, seemed to take her all in, and warmth crept up her cheeks.

  “Well—” she cleared her throat— “I don’t recall having seen him in Town before. Nor you, my lord. I haven’t seen you during either of the past two Seasons.”

  A slow smile lit his face. “Were you looking for me, Lady Emma?”

  Only at every single event she’d ever attended, hoping each time he’d show his face and she’d catch a glimpse of him. That he’d stumble upon her at a soiree and offer her a glass of orgeat, that he’d sit beside her at a musicale to keep her company, that he’d bow low before her at a ball a
nd beg her to waltz with him. And now here he was, right beside her, so close his knee could brush hers if he moved an inch closer. “I had thought to see you at some point, Lord Heathfield.”

  He leaned back on the divan and seemed to study her once more. “I have avoided the marriage mart at all costs.”

  Well that was just silly. How was she to ever see him, how was she to ever get him to fall hopelessly in love with her, if he avoided the marriage mart at all costs? “And why is that, sir?”

  He shrugged. “Well, what is the point, when one is betrothed?”

  “Betrothed?” If a knife had plunged into Emma’s chest, it would have hurt less. Betrothed? How could he be betrothed? And how did she not know it? And who was he to marry? Was she very beautiful? Did he love her deeply?

  Heathfield nodded, apparently unaware that her heart had just been shattered, the tiny pieces littered across the space between them. “My father made the arrangements before I was even wearing short pants.”

  The room started to spin just a bit, and Emma folded her hands in her lap, hoping to keep the room from tipping any further. He’d been betrothed since childhood? She’d never even had a chance of catching him. “Well—” her voice sounded like a croak to her own ears— “I suppose it’s rather late then to offer you my felicitations.”

  He frowned a bit and opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then closed it a moment later as though thinking better of doing so. He sat forwards on the divan and leaned closer to her, his blue eyes focused on Emma so intently she nearly lost her breath. “How have you found the marriage mart, my lady?”

  “Oh, wonderful,” she lied with feigned cheerfulness. “Delightful.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Well—” she forced a smile to her face— “I did anyway. Like you, I have no need to attend such functions anymore.”

  “And who is the lucky man?” he asked.

  Heavens, what was she to say to that? She certainly didn’t want him to think her pathetic, that she’d pinned all her hopes on a future with him without any sort of encouragement on his part, that she was a foolish, lovesick ninny. And above all else, she certainly didn’t want his pity. “I’m certain you don’t know him,” she hedged.

  “I won’t know unless you tell me his name.” He smiled. She really wished he’d stop smiling. His smile could disarm even the most stalwart of women.

  “He’s Flemish.” The lie flew off Emma’s tongue. Flemish? Where had that come from? Flemish? She didn’t think she even knew anyone from Flanders.

  “And your Flemish paragon’s name?” Heathfield pressed.

  A Flemish name. A Flemish name? Good heavens. “Blommen.” She thought she recalled her brother Philip mentioning someone named Blommen at one point in his travels. “Balthasar Blommen.” There, that sounded perfectly Flemish, didn’t it? She hoped so.

  Lord Heathfield’s disarming smile vanished. “You are right, Lady Emma, I am not familiar with your betrothed.”

  “Oh, well, Mr. Blommen keeps very much to himself.” Emma’s mind spun with various ideas about her made-up fiancé. “A very private man.”

  “A lucky one.”

  “I’ll let him know you said so.”

  “Is he here at Danby Castle? I’d love to offer my congratulations in person.”

  Here? Emma nearly swallowed her tongue. Why had she made up some fiancé? And what would she do if Lord Heathfield mentioned Balthasar Blommen to anyone else? She should have never lied. Lying always got one in trouble, especially when the lie wasn’t a well thought out one. “Um,” she hedged. “Well, no, he’s not here. He’s back in London, but you mustn’t mention him to anyone.”

  “And why is that?”

  Why was that? Emma’s mind raced to find an answer. “Because Papa doesn’t approve.”

  “Lord Norland doesn’t approve of Balthasar Blommen from Flanders? And why is that?”

  Mainly because he doesn’t exist. Emma winced. “It is a long story, my lord. I would really rather not get into the details. But if Papa heard Mr. Blommen’s name, he would be furious, so please promise me you won’t mention him.”

  Lord Heathfield lifted one of Emma’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I would never do anything that would cause you distress, my lady.”

  When his lips grazed her hand, wonderful tingles washed across Emma. But she mentally shook the sensation away. She had no future with Lord Heathfield, so she really shouldn’t allow him to elicit tingles from her. “Thank you, my lord. Your betrothed is very lucky to have you.”

  ~ 4 ~

  Inside his guest chambers, Heath dropped into a chintz chair beside his bed. After three days of traveling with Damien along the North Road and now the very strange encounter with Lady Emma, his head throbbed. He had no doubt that she was the one who had summoned him here. It was the why he couldn’t understand. The pretty little liar had also fabricated some Flemish fiancé. But to what end? None of it made any sense to him.

  If he had any sense at all, he’d have his valet repack his things and he’d start back for London as soon as the sun rose in the sky. However, doing so was the last thing he wanted at the moment. He wanted to know why Lady Emma had beckoned him all the way to Yorkshire. He wanted to know why she’d lied to him. But mostly, he just wanted to be near her.

  A knock came at his door and Heath started. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Yes?” he called.

  The door opened and Damien stepped over his threshold. “Ah, there you are. Is there a reason you’re hiding in your chambers?”

  “I wouldn’t call it hiding. Just recovering from our journey.”

  “I thought you said Drew’s sisters were children.”

  Hardly that anymore. Heath shrugged. “They were the last I saw them.” He gestured to a chair opposite him. “Go on and sit down. You haven’t ever heard of a fellow called Balthasar Blommen, have you?” Though he was fairly certain the man was a figment of Lady Emma’s imagination, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  Damien shook his head, then dropped into the seat across from Heath. “Balthasar Blommen? What a ridiculous name. Who is he?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? Heath snorted. “I don’t think he exists, to be honest.”

  “Oh, well, I can see why you’re asking me about some non-existent fellow then.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

  “It’s a long story.” One Heath wasn’t even certain where to start. “I think Lady Emma is playing some sort of a game with me.”

  “A game? I do love games.”

  “Hmm. I just can’t figure out what it is.”

  “You think she’s playing a game with you, but you don’t know what sort it is?” Damien chuckled. “The better question, my friend, is do you want to play it?”

  That was a very good question, indeed. Heath definitely wanted to spend more time with her, that was for sure. There was something very engaging about Emma Whitton, something that spoke to him. Still… “I’m not certain.”

  “Oh, I think you are.” Damien laughed harder. “After Marianne’s defection, what is stopping you? Now about Is—”

  Heath wouldn’t really call his lifelong fiancée’s recent Scottish elopement to another fellow a defection. “We never really suited.” Something their fathers would have known if they’d waited more than three days after Marianne’s birth to align their houses.

  “To say the very least,” Damien agreed. “But Lady Emma… she looks at you as though you personally hung each star in the night sky.”

  “I was kind to her when she was a child, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps.” Damien smirked. “But she’s not a child anymore.”

  No, indeed she wasn’t. She was a stunning girl with a proclivity for telling falsehoods. “I think she wrote the note that brought us here and signed Drew’s name to it.”

  “Do you?”

  Heath began to tick off his reasons with his fingers. “First, she was the only one, it seems, who was
expecting my arrival. And she was surprised Drew had invited you, which she would be if she knew she hadn’t invited you. Do you see?”

  Damien shrugged.

  “Secondly,” Heath continued, “she refers to Danby as ‘Grandpapa’. And finally, she said something to her father about me being alone for Christmas, almost exactly what was written in that letter from Drew.”

  “So she wanted you here. Went to great lengths even.” Damien chuckled. “You should be flattered.”

  He had been until… “And then she invented Balthasar Blommen out of thin air. I saw the whole idea take root in her mind. She created some fictional fiancé while sitting next to me on that divan. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “To make you jealous?” Damien suggested. “Ladies do that sort of thing.”

  But that didn’t make any sense. “No.” Heath shook his head. “There was no need for that. She already had my attention.” Completely undivided, as it was.

  “You’re certain he’s fictional?”

  Heath scowled. “Balthasar Blommen from Flanders of whom she begged me not to mention to anyone lest her deception be discovered.”

  “I see how well you’ve done that.” Damien gestured to himself.

  “You don’t count,” Heath snapped. “She said her father disapproves of the man, but only because I had her cornered with my questions and she had to say something.”

  Damien shrugged. “If I had a daughter who was determined to marry some Flemish Balthasar Blommen, I’d disapprove of the match too. Terrible name.”

  “He’s not real,” Heath ground out, wondering why he’d decided to confide in his irritating friend in the first place.

  “So you say. Do you want me to ask Lady Isabel to be certain?”

  Heath gaped at his friend. Was Isabel Whitton the reason Damien had made his quick departure from the parlor earlier? “I didn’t know you were acquainted with the lady.”

  Damien shook his head. “I’m offering to help you. Do you want my assistance or not?”

  Hardly. Who knew what sort of trouble he’d be in with Damien’s assistance. “No. I can’t imagine those girls keep secrets from each other, and then Emma would know that I know.”