Page 3 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

Michael halted in mid-step. No, not with embarrassment—humiliation.

“We’re both fine,” Anthony answered for her with that same smile that set ladies’ hearts fluttering across the empire. “May we intrude and take up a moment of your time?”

“Of course.” When Anthony didn’t set Clara onto her feet, an icy dread pulsed through Michael. His gaze fell to her legs. Even though the long, thick skirts of her wool travel dress and fur-lined cape kept her legs hidden, he knew why Anthony was still carrying her. Not because of the snow or the danger of icy steps—

She’d never completely recovered from the phaeton accident.

Michael forced down his guilt and gave a welcoming smile as if nothing were amiss, then gestured toward the reception room directly off the entrance hall. “This way.”

Anthony nodded and carried his sister through the set of pocket doors that were slid open by a pair of footmen as they approached.

Michael gathered himself with a hard swallow. “Eads,” he said quietly to the butler, “send up a tea tray right away.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Eads bowed and hurried toward the kitchens at the rear of the house.

Michael passed the wide archway that led to the central stairs hall and glanced up at the floor above. Just as he suspected, four round faces were pressed into the ovals between the scrolls of the ironwork banister, like ostriches with their heads buried in the sand who didn’t realize that the rest of them could still be seen.

He made eye contact with them and grimly shook his head. From the way all four children sank back on the marble stairs, they understood what he meant. They would not be welcome at tea.

Although Michael wasn’t certain he would be, either.

When he entered the yellow drawing room, Anthony straightened from setting Clara on the sofa. A plain woman in gray worsted wool who had followed them in from the carriage immediately went to her side to help her remove her cape. A nurse, Michael surmised from her age and dress and from the way Clara waved off the woman’s fussing, although she gave up her fur muff without protest.

The nurse retreated to the corner where she did her best to fade into the wallpaper.

Michael tried to keep his expression carefully neutral, but surely the surprise gripping his face was as plain as the mortification darkening Clara’s. Not all of it was due to the accident. They hadn’t parted well, and he was certain she’d never expected to come face-to-face with him again.

“Welcome to Northbourne Park.” He nodded to Anthony and sketched Clara a shallow bow. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Anthony shrugged out of his coat and handed it the footman, along with his gloves and hat. “Our apologies for bursting in upon you without warning.” He gestured toward the window and the thickening snow blanketing the countryside. “But we could use your help.”

“Of course. Anything.” He flicked a concerned glance at Clara. “What do you need?”

“We’re traveling north to Raleigh Hall for the holidays.” Anthony grimaced. “But the bridge at Coldstream is out.”

For the next ten minutes or so, Anthony told Michael about their trip, how the going had been slow since Lincoln and halted completely in Coldstream.

Michael had known Anthony since they were lads at Eton, then best friends through their Oxford and London days. Only in the last two years since the accident had their friendship drifted, and not because either man wanted it. But Michael could still read his friend well, and he knew from the way Anthony talked and gestured with forced casualness that he was more concerned about the trip with Clara and his waiting wife at Raleigh than he was letting on.

Throughout his story, Anthony’s attention never strayed far from the tall windows, as if he knew that their travel was going to be impeded by more than just the damaged bridge. This winter was proving to be one of the coldest and snowiest in memory, and they’d unwittingly stumbled right into the heart of it.

Meanwhile, Clara kept her gaze lowered to her folded hands in her lap.

“So you can understand our dilemma,” Anthony finished. “No room at the inn for Christmas.”

Michael smiled faintly at the irony.

Anthony clasped his hands behind his back in that same pose Michael remembered from their days together at Eton, used whenever Anthony wanted to project a sense of control and authority when all hell was breaking loose around him. “When we remembered that Northbourne Park was only a few miles away, we agreed to come here to ask if you wouldn’t mind hosting us until the bridge is repaired.”

Agreed to come here?That was a bloody lie. Judging from the stiffness of Clara’s spine and how she avoided looking at either man, Michael was certain she’d rather have swum across the half-frozen river than ask him for help.

Yet he was their best hope for shelter in the storm, and he would never turn them away.

“I’m glad you did,” Michael admitted. “I would hate to think of you both holed up in some crowded coaching inn when there’s more than enough room for you here.” He nodded his permission to the butler to enter with the tea tray. “You can stay at Northbourne for as long as you’d like. I insist.”

Clara stiffened. “Thank you for your hospitality, but we’ll only be here for tonight.” Her voice came as softly as the snow falling outside. “I want to be off early in the morning.”

Michael exchanged a grim look with Anthony. He was certain that being forced to call on him for help wasn’t easy in the least for her. Just as he was certain that they would be here far longer than one night. Yet he agreed, “Of course. Whatever you’d like.”