A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell

by Joanna Johnson

  Lord Lovell’s lip merely curled. With another sharp rap on the cabin’s ceiling he folded back down into his seat, sitting for a moment with his head lowered as the coach lurched forward again. When he looked up there was something in his expression that made Honora pause, some complex mixture of aggravation and—could it be gruff concern that touched the soft underbelly of her guarded heart and sent a rush running through her she struggled to name?

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  Honora shook her head, still trying to understand the sequence of events that made it spin. Lord Lovell had defended her and not merely half-heartedly—he had been genuinely angry in his defence of her, with no sign of the offhand indifference she might have expected given their strained relationship. Frank had never intervened on her behalf for anything at any time during their marriage. That Lord Lovell had leapt into the fray with no hesitation was surprising indeed.

  ‘No. I think you awoke just in time, although I never would have anticipated your taking my part so strongly—’ She broke off, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. A hundred different feelings and thoughts ran riot through her mind, one chasing after the other in strange half-formed bursts. Lord Lovell had protected her, gone above and beyond what her own husband would have done in his place—and for all her determination never to fall into a man’s arms ever again, to never depend on anyone but herself, she couldn’t deny a gleam of warmth in her soul.

  Lord Lovell frowned, a crisp fold appearing between his eyebrows.

  ‘You may be among the most trying individuals of my acquaintance, but you are still deserving of respect. I won’t have you spoken to like that or manhandled by every wretch that thinks he has the right to any woman he pleases. That rarely ends well—I’ve seen it.’

  His voice was low and bitter and Honora felt her own brow crease in reply. When else had Lord Lovell seen the mistreatment of a woman to speak so strongly against it? And who had it ended for so badly? He spoke as though from experience, but the grim set of his expression gave Honora no encouragement to ask.

  She looked down at her fingers twisted together on her lap. It was impossible for them to still tingle with the sensation of Lord Lovell’s squeeze, yet Honora could have been fooled into thinking she could feel his touch lingering on her skin, delightful and confusing and only adding to the tumult already looping through her gut.

  ‘He said he’d ask for my name at the inn and then tell everybody he knows that my honour is...tainted. Do you think he was in earnest?’

  Lord Lovell gave a rough snort. ‘He can ask if he likes, but it won’t get him very far. I gave the owner false names for both of us—to avoid a situation exactly like this one.’

  At Honora’s blank look of surprise he clicked his teeth in a tut. ‘Did you really think I’d take any chances with your reputation? I know how people like to whisper and I’ve lately come to be aware of the damage that can do to a respectable woman. I wouldn’t want that for you.’

  Honora hardly knew how to reply. He’d had the forethought to not only consider her reputation, but to actually take steps to safeguard it? That was a kindness she never would have imagined to occur to a cocky, feckless man—but then hadn’t her opinion of Lord Lovell begun to change already, his love for his ward and protection of herself bathing him in a newly positive light? If she wasn’t careful she might fall more prey to Lord Lovell’s ready charms than she had already, his hidden goodness beginning to peep through and challenge everything she thought she knew.

  ‘Thank you.’ She attempted a smile, but her lips refused to co-operate, too stiff to move into anything but a brittle curve. ‘For your help today and for acting to save my good name. I’m grateful.’

  Lord Lovell shifted in his seat. It seemed he could handle her irritation with him better than her praise, for he nodded shortly at the scenery outside the window without meeting her eye.

  ‘Yes, well, Carey isn’t far away now. I’d wager we’ll arrive within the hour and then you’ll be free of me. I imagine you must be wishing the minutes away until I set you down at Frank’s lawyers and leave you alone.’

  The white clouds had swollen even more, it seemed to Honora as she gazed out at them, trying to think up a suitable response. Snow would start to fall soon, covering the landscape with pristine white and paving the way for Christmas. By the time the festivities began Honora would be safely back at Wycliff Lodge—far away from Lord Lovell and destined never to set eyes on him again. That was how it should be, of course...and yet some fragment of her, deeply buried and doubtless foolish, wished their parting didn’t have to come so soon. She was just getting to know him, catching a glimpse of the real man beneath the title and swagger, and she couldn’t deny she liked what she saw.

  Which is precisely why it’s a good thing you go your separate ways now. Her rational side spoke up firmly, squashing any argument with its cool logic. You thought you’d found a good man once before and you were sadly mistaken. Best escape now before you make another error that could ruin your life even further.

  Honora swallowed. The little voice was right. She’d already strayed far too close to the edge. Lord Lovell’s kiss had threatened to awaken something in her she’d long since thought dead and buried, something she had no use for, and that couldn’t be allowed. The longer she stayed in his company the more the risk to her safety grew—the lesson Frank had taught her and one she didn’t intend to forget.

  ‘I won’t pretend to be sad the journey is over, but as for the rest... I couldn’t possibly say.’

  Chapter Six

  Isaac sank down more comfortably into his favourite chair and thought fleetingly how glad he was to be back in the warmth of Marlow Manor. His prediction had been correct. Snow had begun to fall just as the coach entered the county of Northamptonshire and now it was settling the temperature would only plummet further into a blustery, freezing night.

  The tip of Honora’s nose had been rosy as she’d bobbed a goodbye curtsy to him outside the rooms of Filliol, Ellis and Drew three hours before, her breath rising in white streams that matched the clouds above. His final glimpse of her was the rippling of her black coat scattered with flecks of white as she climbed the stairs and disappeared inside—bringing their acquaintance to an end, or so Isaac knew he should hope, drawing a line under a complicated encounter he ought to be glad to see the back of.

  And yet...

  Alone in his study he sat back in his chair, eyes roaming the various portraits that smiled down at him. A particularly fine one of his mother hung in pride of place beside one darkening window—its prime position another bone of contention during his father’s disastrous second marriage—and not for the first time Isaac wished the woman contained within it could offer him advice. It was hardly possible to miss a person he’d never known, but as always the sight of those painted eyes looking down at him so kindly kindled a spark of regret. She’d died giving birth to him, the long-awaited heir Father had been so keen for, but had it been worth it, in the end? The death of one to bring forth the life of another—a fate he would keep Charlotte from at all costs. She was the only person who mattered...or had been, until one other had come crashing into his life to make him suddenly doubt...

  Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be Honora damnation Blake who had captured his interest? Her meeting with Frank’s lawyer would be over by now and she would no doubt be settling into a respectable hotel for the night rather than a rough inn no place for a woman on her own—even one with a pistol in her handbag. Mr Drew would have advanced her the money from Frank’s will to engage a man to escort her home the next day, with the promise of a tidy sum ringing in her ears if her hopes were correct, and that was that. Nothing else for Isaac to do but wait for her letter containing the money she insisted she owed him. Their connection was at an end and not a moment too soon, the unsuitability of Honora as an object of interest given her link to Frank something that c
ouldn’t be ignored.

  So why then did he feel some ghost of regret that she had disappeared from his life just as abruptly as she’d entered it?

  Because you’re an idiot? A simpleton who learned nothing from the example Father set when it came to the perils of women?

  Isaac realised he was clenching his teeth and made a conscious effort to relax his jaw.

  He was being ridiculous. Honora was beautiful, that much was true, and dismissive of his face and fortune in a way both piquing and refreshing, but she was gone now and he ought to forget her, just as he had so easily forgotten many other pretty faces attached to far less vexing females. That the stranger on the coach had riled him so was unfortunate, more proof of the dangerous fondness that had begun to unfold in Isaac’s chest. He could have merrily thrown the blackguard out of the window for daring to manhandle her, even aside from the predatory advances that reminded him so uncomfortably of Frank’s treatment of Charlotte—and his own now regrettable behaviour, if he was truthful, an unwelcome acknowledgement that stung. The fair-haired man had tried to take advantage and it had boiled Isaac’s blood, although he had to admit the idea of anyone pursuing Honora wasn’t one he relished.

  Just trying to untangle the various threads of his emotions made his head ache and it was a relief when a gentle tap at the study door heralded one of the maids with a laden tray.

  ‘Some tea for you, sir. You must want some after such a long, cold day.’

  ‘Thank you, Clara. I think you must have read my mind.’

  She carefully deposited the tray on the desk in front of him and with a swift bob made as if to leave, turning politely when Isaac called her back.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Is Miss Charlotte up now? She wasn’t when I arrived.’

  Clara nipped at her lower lip and Isaac knew at once she was wondering how to word a delicate reply. She was a loyal servant with a kind heart and if she’d noticed Charlotte’s condition—still for the most part hidden beneath ever more voluminous gowns—she could be trusted not to spread gossip outside the Manor.

  Isaac sighed. ‘She keeps to her rooms still?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. I don’t think she emerged the whole time you were away, not even to eat. I took her up a tray, but it always came back untouched. Even when it was her favourites.’

  ‘I see. Thank you for trying.’

  With another dip Clara slipped from the room and for a moment Isaac closed his eyes, screwing them shut as if it could help him block out the misery of reality. Honora should be the absolute last thing on his mind given the circumstances and a wave of guilt swept over him that he’d allowed anything to divert his full attention from Charlotte. She was starving herself, wasting away before his very eyes, and if he didn’t manage to get through to her quickly there was no telling where her unhappiness would take her.

  He dropped his head into the cradle of his palms. If only his mother was still alive, hadn’t succumbed to the tragic fate he feared Charlotte could so easily share. She’d know what to do with a young girl forced to grow up too fast, her future all but ruined and lying in tatters at her feet. What Charlotte needed was female guidance, a good-hearted woman with a gentle hand to help steer her through the rough waters to come. Her own mother had died when Charlotte was nine, but some older maternal figure was just what the situation demanded, someone who knew better than him and his blind groping for an answer that evaded him at every turn...

  He didn’t look up when another tap sounded at the door. No doubt it was Clara returning with a forgotten milk jug or something similar—so a sharp pang of surprise tore through him when instead an entirely different voice murmured hesitantly from the threshold,

  ‘May I come in?’

  Isaac jerked his head up so quickly his neck clicked, but he was too distracted by the figure in the doorway to notice.

  ‘Honora?’

  He couldn’t help but stare, his pulse rocketing skywards at her sudden appearance. Shock coursed through him, followed so closely behind by an instinctive thrill it took him a moment to notice the state she was in.

  ‘What are you doing here? And—what happened to you?’

  She gazed back at him, one hand gripping the study door handle as if clinging on for dear life. The maid who let her into the Manor must have taken her coat and bonnet so there was nothing to hide the filthy, sodden hem of her dress or how her hair had tumbled halfway down from its crown of curls. Honora’s mouth was pressed into a tight line and her shoulders were rigid...until with a start of concern Isaac saw them slump hopelessly, the shabby bag she held thumping down on to the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude. I know I’ve no right to come here after everything you’ve already done for me. It’s just... I didn’t know what else to do.’ She took a deep breath, still lingering in the doorway like a spectre in the night. Isaac knew he ought to insist she come inside and sit down, but he was transfixed by confusion, only able to break his trance when he noticed how her free hand shook as it hung down limply at her side.

  ‘Honora, come in here. Sit down and tell me...what’s happened?’

  Finally regaining control of his limbs, Isaac strode to the door, taking her elbow and firmly directing her to his own vacated chair. She sank into it, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off whatever was causing the desolate look in her eye.

  ‘Well?’

  Honora stared into the depths of the hearth and Isaac had to lean forward to catch her reply, low and dull as an empty cask. ‘The will was read this afternoon, as we thought it would be, and Frank’s solicitor told me everything. It seems my dear husband had debts from here to the moon and to pay them off he instructed Mr Drew to sell Wycliff Lodge—despite it being my home. A buyer has been found and I am to vacate the house immediately.’ She stopped to hug herself tighter and Isaac, perched next to her on a chair of his own, had to steel himself against the urge to take her in his arms and attempt to stem her obvious unhappiness.

  ‘But that isn’t even the worst of it. At least with my widow’s jointure I could have found some small place, even if just a handful of rooms of my own...if Frank had left provision for one as he once promised. The will I witnessed him draw up was changed only days after he first made it, as Mr Drew was clearly ashamed to tell me, and the money Frank swore so faithfully I would have, when he still pretended to love me, was never to be paid.’

  Isaac stiffened. ‘Do you mean to say—?’

  ‘That I’m destitute? Without even enough money to return to Wycliff Lodge, which isn’t my home any longer? Or to repay my debt to you for the journey here? Yes. That’s precisely the predicament that man left me in. But why should I be surprised? Lies were all he ever gave me. It was foolish of me to think he might keep any promise he made.’

  She hunched further in her chair, curled over on herself as if in pain. The difference between when he had last seen her and the present moment was dramatic and Isaac felt the desire to comfort her roar up inside him once again, fingers itching to catch up one small hand and feel Honora’s warmth mingle with his own. How could Frank treat his own wife so abominably? And not just any wife—one so vibrant and interesting as Honora, who he had never even slightly deserved? Isaac had thought his contempt for his former friend couldn’t grow any more venomous, but with Honora before him Isaac found himself plumbing new depths of revulsion for the man who had died in his arms.

  ‘I left the solicitors’ rooms in a daze with no idea of where to go, or indeed any money to take myself there. In the absence of a better plan I asked the way to Marlow Manor and walked here...to throw myself on your mercy, I suppose.’

  Isaac ran a hand through his hair, the cogs in his mind beginning to turn in sluggish thought. She’d walked almost four miles through the snowy darkness to arrive at his door, all alone and fighting against the wind and freezing cold? No wonder she was soaked to the bone
and her hair disordered, although the haphazard arrangement of her curls did nothing to detract from their ebony gleam. She must have been desperate indeed to do such a thing—although Honora’s distress wasn’t the only thing that sent a skewer between his ribs.

  Charlotte. What if she meets Charlotte?

  That would be the absolute finishing touch to Honora’s living nightmare, he thought rapidly as he watched her scrub at her eyes with the heel of her hand. After everything else that had befallen her, to learn of Frank’s final betrayal might be the thing that sent her over the edge into misery so fathomless she might never recover. There would be two lives ruined then. That of Charlotte, whom he loved as a daughter, and Honora, who somehow, by some witchcraft all her own, threatened to make him question things he’d thought settled. It was dangerous to have the two women under the same roof even if they were unaware of the common thread between them—yet Isaac knew he couldn’t send Honora away.

  Damn it all. Is this what happens when you let yourself be swayed by sentiment?

  As if reading his mind Honora raised her head, looking at him so wearily any thoughts of her leaving stuttered and died.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t have come and I’m sorry to bring this to your door. I just...didn’t know what else to do. There’s nowhere else I could think of to go, with no money and the weather worsening by the minute...’

  ‘Of course. Of course you should have come here.’ Isaac found his lips moving of their own accord, spurred into action by her uncharacteristic vulnerability. He shouldn’t be doing this, sailing so close to the wind and risking both Charlotte and Honora’s increased unhappiness, but what else could he do? Turn her out into the snowy night? He would have to think up some way of managing the situation and he would have to do it fast.

  He stood up. A bell hung beside the fireplace and before Isaac could think the better of it he pulled the rope, gesturing to Clara when her face appeared obligingly round the half-open door.