Yes. And sadly, she’d already made it. She’d made her decision when she’d run off recklessly with Albert Marshville, and that act could never be undone. “I require paper and a pen.”
Mother paused mid-stride. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Never tell me…you do not intend to…”
“I cannot marry him, Mother,” she said quietly.
“Of course you can!” Mother and the Tidemore sisters exclaimed.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m ruined. And I’ll not ruin his children.” Even though he’d told her nothing else mattered—it did. He, Charlotte and Daniel, they all mattered.
“Bah, his children are young. They’ll not be affected by the scandal.”
Patrina would wager not even her own mother believed that effortless lie.
Poppy touched a hand to her shoulder. She started, not having realized her sister had made her way over to her. “What will you say, Patrina?”
Tears clogged her throat. She shook her head. She really didn’t know.
Chapter 16
Weston picked up a roll and smeared butter upon the flaky, white, still-warm bread.
“Will Lady Patrina have a new gown?” Charlotte called from across the breakfast table.
He glanced over at his daughter and opened his mouth to speak.
“Who cares whether she has a new gown?” Daniel grumbled.
“Daniel,” he scolded.
The nursemaid seated beside Daniel leaned over and whispered something in the boy’s ear.
His son shoveled a heaping spoonful of eggs into his mouth. “Well, it’s true,” he said around the food.
“When will you two wed?” Charlotte continued. “Will she live here?”
“Surely you don’t expect she’ll live with her own mama,” Daniel shot back.
Weston fixed a hard stare on him and his son dropped his gaze to his plate. “Yes. Lady Patrina will live here,” he said to his daughter. “Will you,” He hesitated. “mind having her share our home?”
Charlotte wildly shook her head. “Oh, no. Not at all, Papa. It shall be good fun having a mother. Do you believe she will take me for ribbons?”
A footman entered bearing a silver tray. He carried the missive over to Weston.
“I imagine she will, Char.” He absently picked the note up, studying the delicate scrawl upon the sheet. His daughter beamed and continued to prattle on. He unfolded the sheet and scanned the page. His heart thudded to a stop. And when it resumed beating, it beat a hard, painful rhythm inside his chest. He quickly re-read the lines.
Dear Weston,
I wanted to thank you so much for the short, though beautiful gift of your children. Both you, as well as Charlotte and Daniel’s presence, has brought me much joy in a recently dreary world.
Upon further consideration, however, with strictly the well-being of your children in mind, I must rescind my acceptance of your very generous offer of marriage.
I bid you and your family every happiness…
Signed…
Weston surged to his feet. “My horse,” he thundered to a footman at the edge of the door. She’d simply sever the connection after having accepted his offer to protect his children? She did so with his family’s happiness in mind? If that had been the case, she’d have realized Weston, the Marquess of Beaufort didn’t do anything he didn’t wish to do. And more, she’d filled his life with more happiness than he’d ever thought to know after his wife’s treachery. A knot formed in his stomach. He’d allowed Patrina to believe he would enter into a union with her for the sole purpose of providing a mother for his children. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He should have told her earlier how much she’d come to mean to him. The day they’d sat piecing together the kissing bough, he should have taken her in his arms and assured her that he wanted her for her…wanted her because he loved her.
Such a revelation should riddle him with terror.
And yet, it didn’t come. Instead, a semblance of calm and the absolute rightness in loving her filled Weston.
The liveried servant hurried out of the room.
“What is it?” Charlotte called. Lines of worry creased her small brow.
He forced himself to take several calming breaths. “Nothing, poppet,” he assured her. “A matter of business.” It had begun as merely a kind of business proposal “to see to.” But at some point, it all changed. He needed her when he’d not allowed himself to depend on anyone for all these years now. He craved her smile and her laughter. He yearned for her gentle teasing. He longed to lay her down and lay claim to her lean, lithe body. And he’d be damned if he let some misguided sense of honor allow her to snuff the happiness she’d brought him.
“Is it about Lady Patrina?” Daniel, clever and world-wary for one of his tender years, asked. “She probably decided she didn’t want us, too,” he mumbled that last throwaway comment beneath his breath.
Weston’s gut wrenched at the reminder of the pain wrought by Cordelia—a woman who had placed her happiness before that of even her own children. Unlike Patrina who would set them aside to keep them safe. He clenched his jaw. Like hell, she would. “Look at me, Daniel.”
His son hesitated and then raised his stubborn, angry gaze to Weston. “Lady Patrina cares very much about you and Charlotte.”
Daniel pushed the uneaten egg about his plate with his fork and gave a reluctant nod.
Now, it became a matter of convincing the young lady that not only his children needed her…but he needed her, as well. And he’d never wanted anything or anyone more.
Patrina sat on the wrought iron bench and stared at the boxwoods, heavy with snow. She pulled her cloak close, burrowing into the thick woolen fabric to brace herself from the chill.
By now, Weston had surely received her note, read her wishes, and knew she no longer would wed him. She’d sent it round yesterday morning. Yesterday. She scuffed the tip of her foot into the thick snow, drawing a faint circle in the fluffy white substance.
She really didn’t know what she’d expected of him. The illogical, foolishly naïve woman who still longed for love and hoped for happiness had imagined an extraordinary scenario in which he stormed from his home, ordered his horse, and charged after her. He’d declare his feelings…
Patrina shoved aside the pathetic yearnings. More likely, the marquess had realized how wholly unsuitable she was and had found a good measure of relief in being absolved of his—
Something landed hard at her back. She stiffened as the cool, wetness of snow seeped into the material of her cloak. She turned, just as another snowball found its mark at her shoulder. Outrage thrummed through her. “What—?” She leapt to her feet and froze. Her throat worked painfully at the sight of him in his towering golden glory, a shimmer of sun in the cold, wintry world.
Weston stood, some seven yards away, a snowball in his hand. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “I am displeased with you, madam.”
She swallowed hard. “My lord?”
His next snowball found its mark at her opposite shoulder. She stared down at the white fragment left upon her cloak. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”
“No,” he barked. “I hit you with three snowballs.”
Well. “How did you know I was here?”
“That is what you’d ask me?” His golden eyebrows dipped. “Your sisters were quite forthcoming.”
Oh, she could just imagine. She imagined such forthcoming-ness also included mention of a certain viscountess to whom Weston shared blood. Her sisters’ betrayal needled at her heart. “Why are you here?” Surely he knew she made this sacrifice for him.
“I don’t want nor need you to make any sacrifice for me, Patrina Tidemore,” he snapped, having clearly followed the unspoken direction of her thoughts.
If his tone wasn’t so harshly angry, she would have been warmed by his—She gasped as he bent down and hastily put together another missile. “What are you doing?”
He stood. “You do not get to enter
my life…the lives of my children…and then send around a letter politely refusing an offer.”
“I—”
“An offer you already accepted.”
She stiffened her spine at the biting fury in his clipped tones. “I’ll have you know I’ve done this for you.”
He glowered. “What have you done for me? Taken away all happiness you’ve brought into my life? Plunged me back into an icy, solitary world?”
His words tugged at her heart. “Oh, Wes—” He launched his snowball. It collided with her chest. She looked at the white splattered mark upon her breast. “You do know it is ungentlemanly to throw snowballs.”
He took a step toward her. “Is that all you’d say to me?” Then another. His black cloak snapped angrily about his ankles. Patrina glanced around at the small drifts and bushes preventing escape. Not that she feared him.
“Do you fear me?” he snapped.
Her head shot up, startled at his uncanny ability to know just what she was thinking. “Er, no.” She paused. “Should I?”
The low-growl that rumbled from his chest provided very little reassurance. He reached into the front of his cloak and withdrew a familiar note. He tossed it toward her. A gust of wind caught the thick sheet and carried it several feet where it fluttered silently into the snow. “What the hell is the meaning of this?” His booming voice carried through the empty park, echoing in the stillness.
Even as her heart was breaking for all she’d never have with him, she tipped her chin up a notch. “That is a letter.” His golden brows met in a single, furious line. Who did he think he was coming here and wreaking havoc on her already tumultuous mind? “I did not mean to wound your ego, my lord. Upon careful consideration—”
“By God, Patrina, if you say upon consideration, however, with strictly the well-being of your children in mind, I must rescind my acceptance of your very generous offer of marriage.”
She flattened her lips as he tossed her words back at her, as though they had no meaning, as though she’d not cried until she feared she’d break from penning those blasted words.
He claimed her gloved fingers in his. “Did nothing I say mean anything to you?” he demanded, his tone harsh and guttural. “I spoke to you about the happiness you’ve shown me. I spoke about how you’ve shown me how to laugh and smile again.” He dropped his voice to an angry whisper. “And then you’d so effortlessly cut me from your life.” Gold flecks glinted in his eyes. “Will you not say anything?” He released her suddenly and spun away. Walking away. Out of her life. And the glimmer of happiness he represented would be forever extinguished.
Patrina swallowed hard. “I-it mattered,” she called after him, hating the break in her voice that signified weakness.
He froze, his back presented to her.
She fixed her gaze on the immaculate fabric of his cloak. “You must understand, with my decision, I sacrificed not only my own happiness but that of all of my sisters. Even as they don’t fully realize the consequences of what I’ve done, the time will come when they enter Society and are spurned for their connection to me.” She held her palms up, forgetting he could not see her silent entreaty. “Don’t you see, if you were to wed me, the same will happen to Charlotte and the time would come when you resented me?” She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Maybe even hate me for a brash, girlish mistake I made seemingly a lifetime ago. And that I could not bear, Weston.” That would destroy her in way Albert Marshville’s betrayal never could have. “Please, don’t leave.” Not you.
He whirled around. “Is that what you believe? That I’m leaving you?” His long legs ate away the distance between them.
Patrina trailed the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Well, I did assume… that is to say…” She sighed. “Yes.” She paused, her breath coming in labored gasps. “Weren’t you?”
A gust of wind whipped his unfashionably long golden strands about his eyes. “I was not.”
“Oh.” She studied the tips of her boots while waiting for him to say more. Wanting him to say more, needing him to say more. The winter wind gusted about them, dusting her cheeks with flakes of snow. The scent of him, honey and mint filled her senses, intoxicating in its sweetness. She ached for him.
He nudged her chin up with his knuckles. “I swear, Patrina Tidemore, you are the only woman I know who’d not ask me where I was off to.”
“Where were you off to, Weston?”
He fished around the front of his cloak and withdrew a small packet. “Here.” He held it out.
Her fingers, nearly numb with cold, shook as she fumbled through the pages. Her heartbeat paused and then sped up. Her gaze flew to his. “What does this mean?” Her words emerged as a breathless whisper.
“I went to gather the only people that matter.”
Her gaze wandered past his shoulder. Her breath caught at the collection of individuals a short distance away. Her brother paced back and forth, rubbing his hands together, and occasionally breathing into his gloved fingers. Penelope, Prudence, and Poppy chatted excitedly beside Weston’s children and a beleaguered, official-looking gray-haired gentleman. Then Patrina looked to her mother, smiling for the first time in nine months. And Juliet, who, in her delicate condition, really shouldn’t be out, yet was here anyway. Her sister-in-law gave a slight shake of her head, as though interpreting Patrina’s thoughts. A wide smile wreathed the woman’s cold-reddened cheeks. Patrina swallowed and managed a nod, assuring her that at last everything was all right.
Weston took her gloved hands. She returned her attention to him. He dropped to a knee. “Marry me, Patrina. Marry me not because my children need a mother or because I’m your only option. I ask that you marry me before the only people who matter, in this place where we met. The rest of the world, the ton, polite Society, my sister,” he said pointedly. “They can all go hang. Marry me because I love you and though you don’t—”
She flung her arms around his neck. He grunted and toppled backward into the snow. Her mother’s shocked cry sounded as he tumbled onto his back, catching her to him. “I love you,” she whispered. In spite of the frigid winter chill, the heat of his body warmed her through the thick fabric of her cloak, a contrast to the cold snow.
“Patrina,” her brother’s sharp bark of disapproval carried in the wind.
Weston touched a hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes a moment and leaned into his touch, feeling for the first time in her life—cherished. “And I love you, Lady Patrina Tidemore.”
In the distance Poppy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Is there to be a wedding?”
For nearly nine months she’d resigned herself to the inevitable fate of spinsterhood. Had recognized she’d bartered away her happiness, and given up on the dream of a husband. Only now she realized everything that had occurred before this moment had occurred to bring her to this moment. For if there had never been an Albert Marshville, then there never would have been a lonely walk along the Serpentine River, and a chance encounter with a devoted father and once-stern nobleman.
And with Weston before her, she knew she’d not wanted simply any gentleman. She’d wanted no one else but him.
A smile turned her lips upwards at the corner. “There’s to be a wedding,” Patrina whispered.
Epilogue
Patrina looked around the noisy table. Cook had prepared a wedding feast that reflected the Christmastide season. From plum pudding to the marchpane and roast turkey, it was a wholly festive meal, which from the laughter and exclamations was enjoyed by the children of varying ages clustered about the table. She nibbled at the edge of gingerbread.
Prudence buttered a flaky roll. “I wanted to help select a new gown,” she muttered.
Mother glared her into silence.
“What? I did,” Prudence persisted. “All brides should have a new gown for their wedding day.”
Poppy nodded. “It’s true,” she said around a mouthful of bacon. “She at least—”
“Do not speak with your mou
th full, Poppy,” Juliet, said gently to the youngest Tidemore sister.
The girl swallowed and then patted her lips with a napkin. “She really…” She glanced to Patrina. “You should have at least had a new gown.” Her gaze swung over to Weston who sat beside Patrina. “You really should have waited so she might have a new gown made.” She winced. “Ouch.”
Penelope frowned at her.
“Don’t kick me, Penny,” Poppy complained.
“My foot slipped.”
She started when under the cover of the table, Weston placed his hand over hers and gave a faint squeeze.
From his other side Charlotte cleared her throat. “Why didn’t you allow her a new gown, Papa?”
Weston leaned close and whispered against her ear. “We really should take care to keep this lot apart.”
Patrina’s shoulders shook with laughter. She took another bite of her sugared treat.
He touched his free hand to his chest and looked solemnly at her frowning sisters. “I promise to have an entire new wardrobe fashioned by the finest modiste and invite you ladies to assist your sister.”
She groaned, the sound lost to her three younger sisters excited squeals and chatter. “You’ve done me no favors, my lord,” she whispered.
He raised her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “It seemed like the safest response for me to make.”
She snorted. “Perhaps the most cowardly one.”
His lips twitched.
“I don’t know what all the fuss over a silly gown is anyway,” Daniel mumbled. He shoved his fork around his plate.
Patrina finished her gingerbread and dusted her hands together. She eyed the untouched treat on Weston’s plate and sighed with longing for the last piece of his sugared treat.
“Why don’t you share with everyone again how you met my sister, my lord?” Prudence called from across the table.
Mother and Jonathan shot matching glares in her direction.
A Little Winter Scandal: A Regency Christmas Collection Page 19