Oh, hell and damnation. His stomach sank for altogether different reasons than his overindulgence. “You needn’t.”
“I needn’t,” his father agreed. “Until I received word of you. Just as all of the ton has heard tales of your scandalous escapades. Nay, I’m stuck here.” His eyes narrowed. “With a house full of company.”
With a house full of…
“Company,” the earl finished, confirming Luke had spoken aloud.
“But…”
“No buts. We’ve guests arriving for the holidays, and when they do you will be presentable, the household decorated, and all rumors about your escapades will be laid to rest.” The earl leaned closer, the chair creaking and groaning under that movement as he dropped his palms onto his knees. “Am I clear, my boy?”
“Abundantly,” he said through tight lips.
His father flashed a wide smile that curved up his rounded cheeks. “Splendid, my boy. Splendid.” With that, the earl stood and took his leave.
The moment his father had closed the door behind him, Luke closed his eyes. In four days, the house would be crawling with guests. Nauseating, holiday revelers, at that.
This was the punishment his family was determined to inflict upon Luke for his bad behavior.
He’d been wrong, then, after all. This was to be his hell.
Chapter Two
Merry Read had lived upon the Earl of Maldavers’ properties for nearly twenty years of her life. She’d run through his gardens. She’d pilfered treats from his kitchens. She’d hidden within his French-inlaid armoires.
But never had she set foot inside his Mayfair townhouse.
Of course, she’d enjoyed those former luxuries only because, as the housekeeper’s daughter, Merry had been invisible to the lord and lady of the household.
After all, the servants’ children were invariably shadowy little figures who drifted about, but were never truly noted.
Now, as the butler escorted her through a maze of halls and corridors as winding as the ones in Leeds, Merry took in the austere, regal elegance that oozed from Lord and Lady Maldavers’ residence.
Ornate gold frames hung upon the walls. They filled every space, the articles nearly touching.
Sconces lined the opposite side of the hall. From the gilded waterfall lamps, crystals hung like icicles atop the eaves at wintertime.
In fact, based upon her walk alone, she’d deduced that anything not constructed of gold was crystal, and everything else was a blindingly bright blend of the two.
Any other person wandering these corridors would be hard-pressed to be anything but impressed by the wealthy garnishing on display.
That was, anybody but Merry.
She tried to repress a horrified wince—and failed.
The place exuded wealth, but also coldness. In short, the Holmans’ townhouse personified the family itself quite perfectly.
“Here we are, miss.” The butler brought them to a stop before an open doorway. “The Yellow Drawing Room.” Stepping forward, his back ramrod straight, the young man announced her… to an empty room. “Miss Read.” His voice boomed off the high ceilings.
Merry swept her gaze throughout the room. The Yellow Drawing Room was hardly an apt name for the space. Gold. Every swath of fabric to the trim of the Aubusson carpeting contained gold or gilded accents.
“Well, well, step forward, Miss Read.” The countess’ voice echoed from the far left corner of the drawing room.
Merry found the older woman with her gaze. Seated at a round table, the countess remained engrossed in her task, not even bothering to lift her head in greeting. “You’ve hardly any time before the guests arrive, and therefore, you can hardly afford to stand there tarrying.”
Taking that as an invitation to join Lady Maldavers, Merry marched across the room, but not before she caught a commiserative glance from the butler as he took his leave, closing the doors behind him.
The click of Lady Maldavers’ pen filled the cavernous space.
As Merry stopped at the opposite side of the center pedestal table in mahogany, she craned her neck a fraction in a bid to see what so occupied the older woman’s attention.
She squinted. Alas, it looked like it could be Blackbeard’s map.
At last, Lady Maldavers set her pen down and looked up, a pair of spectacles perched at the far end of her hawklike nose. “I trust you’re quite speechless at the beauty of 1896 Pembroke Place,” she said, as if they’d been conversing the whole time on that very subject.
“It is impressive in its grandeur,” Merry murmured, unwilling to offer her true grim opinions.
Frowning, the countess removed her spectacles. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing with those gold frames to the Louis XVI painted marquise chair.
Merry hadn’t even fully seated herself on the mustard velvet upholstery before the other woman began speaking. “The household must be completely transformed. There can be no doubting that the adjusted plans had anything to do with… ” Wonder of wonders, color splotched the other woman’s cheeks. “With… with…”
“Your desire to return to London for a lovely holiday season,” Merry neatly supplied.
The countess found her footing once more. “Precisely. As such, it is my expectation that the foyer, halls, and great ballroom are all fully decked for the Yuletide season.” She pushed that large paper that had previously commanded her attention over to Merry.
Why… it hadn’t just looked like a map. It was a map. Merry lifted a questioning gaze. “My—”
“It is a map, Miss Read. I trust you know something of maps?”
There would be a second wonder of wonders, because in that instance, the countess’ eyes twinkled. That glimmer was gone as quickly as it had come.
Surely a flicker of the light. For the other woman could not and would not know the fun Merry had enjoyed making maps as a girl. She’d spent countless days designing countless maps for scavenger hunts she’d played with Ewan. His older and younger brothers had both been too serious to ever take part. “Yes, my lady,” she finally said. “Maps are not foreign to me.”
“This,” the other woman went on as if Merry hadn’t spoken, but then, an answer would never have been required from the countess, “is the layout of the townhouse.” She turned the page around so Merry could see. “Bedrooms here.” She jabbed a finger at the area in question. “Guest suites”—she moved a long finger across the page—“here. And priority should be given to these following areas. The foyer.” She jabbed her finger at the crude map as she spoke. “The music rooms. The ballroom. The dining rooms. In that order, Miss Read.”
As the rapid-fire instructions flew, Merry struggled to commit the details to memory.
“There is, of course, no limit to what you may spend. You are free to decorate as you see fit. I’d only ask that it be tasteful and cheerful for the holiday season.”
Merry stole a sideways peek at the garish rooms. Given their vastly different views on design aesthetic, the countess’ ask seemed like a hard one indeed. “There is the matter of boughs and greenery and the yule log.” Those trappings came far easier in the country.
Lady Maldavers pointed to another area on the map. “We have gardens with everything you might require, Miss Read.” The countess proceeded to gather her things. “I suggest you begin by assessing the rooms you’ll be working with, and then you may inventory the gardens in order to ascertain you’ve everything you require.”