Read The Earl's Christmas Delivery for Free Online

Christmas Day. A warm fire and a hot bath would be waiting for him. After all this time spent in the wet and the chill, those things seemed like a fantastical dream. He could only imagine how his shivering companion managed to keep from complaining.
    Heaven knew that if he'd been with one of his male cohorts instead of in delicate company he'd have had plenty to say about the misery of their situation. For Miss Meriwether's sake, however, he kept quiet. He was most impressed that she did the same.
    Nearly an hour now they ridden in silence. Never before had he met a woman who could keep silent for that long, let alone one who must have had ample reason to speak up. He glanced over to make sure she was still breathing.
    She was. The oilcloth was pulled low over her face to keep the wind off her, but even as she huddled in a stooped pile on the bench beside him he could detect the rise and fall of her chest. She was not sleeping. She'd have fallen off by now if she was. She was simply sitting there, arms wrapped around her with the drab cloth giving whatever protection it could.
    Silent. Somehow.
    What a perplexing woman she was. How did she come to be known to Estelle? He couldn't recall his sister ever mentioning a Meriwether person, but he had to admit he'd never really paid much attention to Estelle's ramblings about her friends. She'd seemed to have hundreds of them, after all. What Myserleigh had paid attention to were her suitors. She'd had nearly hundreds of those, too. Most were worthless and Myserleigh sent them off with their tails between their legs. When Bexley refused to be turned away so easily, however, Myserleigh began to take note.
    He thought the man too young, of course . The third son of a rural baron, John Bexley was barely into his twenties when Estelle made her come out. Other much more prominent young men paid her notice and Myserleigh had high hopes for them, by the end of Estelle's first Season she informed her brother she would accept no other; it was Bexley or no one for her.
    Myserleigh had thought it folly and syrupy sentiment, but she used every weapon in her arsenal—tears, foot stamping, hysterics, and even cold, clear logic to sway him on the subject. Eventually he gave in. Estelle married her Bexley that summer and had seemed blissfully happy for the past six and a half years. It was a damn shame that her husband had to be struck down now and upset their idyllic life. Myserleigh would never forgive the man if he left her grieving with three small children to raise.
    Not that they would ever want for anything, should the worst happen. Myserleigh would see that they had everything growing children needed. He would even do his best to be some sort of father-figure to them, he supposed.
    A terrifying thought, that. What did he know about helping to rear children? Nothing, of course. He'd avoided the very thought of anything so domestic as that. The fact that it was his duty to marry and produce a pack of his own little Bahamburg heirs was always in the back of his mind, but so far he'd not felt any specific necessity for it. He'd not longed for the persistent patter of little feet and he'd certainly not encountered any female who made him long for breakfast conversation with her every day. Every week. Every year. For the rest of his life.
    Dear God, but that was even more terrifying than the fatherhood thought. Tying himself to one woman for the rest of his life? Not high on his list of priorities.
    "What else is on your list?" Miss Meriwether asked.
    He was so startled to hear her voice that at first he did not comprehend her question. As the words slowly repeated themselves through his brain and he sorted out the meaning, he became even more startled. Was the quiet chit some sort of witch that she should read his private thoughts? He stammered just a bit as he spoke.
    "I... I beg your pardon?"
    " Your list from Estelle. What else does she ask you to collect for her?"
    "Oh. that list. Yes... er,