by Anna Bradley
“Here for Lord Christopher’s whisky, are you?” Alistair Rutherford gave Oliver a hearty slap on the back. “Good day,” he added, beaming at Dinah and Grim.
Oliver took Dinah’s arm and drew her forward. “This is Miss Bishop, a dear friend of the Countess of Archer’s, and of the entire Angel family.”
“Is she, then? Well, Miss Bishop, any friend of the Angels is more than welcome at Rutherford Hall. Good lot they are, if a bit riotous, eh?”
Before Dinah could answer, Oliver hauled Grim forward. “This gentleman is Miss Bishop’s brother. Mr. Bishop is accompanying us to Cliff’s Edge to chaperone his sister. Aren’t you, Mr. Bishop?”
Oliver sensed Dinah stiffen in shock at this blatant lie, but he was staring hard at Grim, his eyebrows raised. If there was the least bit of consciousness on Grim’s face, their ruse was finished.
Grim had his flaws, but he could think quickly when the situation required it. “I, er…yes, indeed I am. My sister, Mr. Rutherford. Fond of her, you know.” He gave Dinah’s arm a clumsy pat.
Oliver turned to wink at Dinah. Her cheeks pinkened, and his lips curved. He’d never seen her blush. She looked prettier with that fetching wash of color on her cheeks than he’d ever seen her look before. If he had felt just a twinge of guilt at dragging her to Plumstead—and he wasn’t saying he did—it evaporated like dew after sunrise at the sight of that blush.
“Shall we have some refreshment before we descend to the cellars? It’s a cold day, what? Tea will warm you. Do you fancy some tea, Mathilda?” Rutherford smiled down at the little girl still clutching his hand.
Mathilda paused to give this question the gravest consideration. “Will there be cakes?”
“Will there be cakes? Why, my dear child, have you ever known us to have tea without cakes? Run along now and fetch the others, there’s a good girl.”
Rutherford chuckled as Mathilda scurried off on a pair of chubby little legs. “I hope you don’t mind an informal tea,” he said to them as he led them through the entryway into a spacious drawing room. “We gave that up after the twelfth grandchild learned to walk.”
Informal wasn’t the word Oliver would use to describe tea at Rutherford Hall.
It was bloody chaos.
They hadn’t yet raised their teacups to their lips before they were set upon by a swarm of children of various ages, all of them demanding cakes. Dozens of pattering feet ran from one end of the room to the other, and a quartet of tiny black kittens gamboled about, pouncing on the cake crumbs that fell in the children’s wake.
The noise was unholy, with everyone shouting at once. Oliver had never enjoyed himself more, but he cast a few anxious glances at Dinah, who sat amidst the tumult, her brow furrowed, as if she’d found herself in a foreign country and didn’t know what to make of it. Not surprising, since taking tea with a family like the Rutherfords would be no more familiar to her than taking tea with the queen.
“Let’s see to your whisky, shall we, Angel?” Rutherford said, rising to his feet when tea gave way to a haphazard game of charades. “I’ve set aside a cask for Lord Christopher, but I thought you and Mr. Bishop might like to have a wander through the cellars.”
“I’d enjoy that. Is that agreeable, Bishop?”
Grim seemed to think this was an occasion that called for a formal bow and bent awkwardly at the waist. “I can’t imagine anything more delightful.”
Oliver hid his grin. “Very good, Mr. Bishop. Miss Bishop? Do you fancy a wander through the cellars, or will you—”
He stopped short, one eyebrow inching up.
Rutherford’s granddaughter Mathilda had grasped a fold of Dinah’s skirt, and Dinah was staring down at the child as if she were trying to work out what sort of creature Mathilda might be.
“Oh, no. She must come with me and play with the kittens. You will come, won’t you?” Mathilda clung to Dinah’s skirts and gazed up at her with pleading brown eyes.
“I…well, I…yes, I suppose I will.” Dinah darted a quick glance at Oliver, but she let the child lead her by the hand toward the parlor.
Oliver, Rutherford and Grim descended to the cellars. Rutherford was proud of his collection, and they spent quite some time ambling about, pausing now and again as Rutherford pointed out some of his rarer bottles, and held forth on the topics of fermentation and malted mash.
When they returned to the parlor, they found Mathilda chattering away to Dinah in that way young children do when they’ve found a favorite. Oliver couldn’t hear everything Mathilda said, but she seemed to be talking of the black kittens, and listing off their names to Dinah.
Dinah said very little, but she sat calmly on the floor beside Mathilda, one of the kittens curled up in her lap, listening quietly as the child prattled on.
“We’ve finished in the cellars, Miss Bishop.” Oliver offered Dinah his hand.
Dinah scooped up the kitten in her lap and placed it gently in Mathilda’s hands. “Thank you for sharing your kittens with me, Mathilda.” She nestled her fingertips in Oliver’s palm. He drew her to her feet, his hand tingling from the slide of her skin against his.
Rutherford led them to the entryway, a servant following behind with the cask of whisky, but when they opened the door, they were nearly knocked off their feet by a blast of cold air. The temperature had dropped considerably while they were inside, and just as Oliver had feared, plump white flakes of snow were falling from the sky.
“Well now, we can’t send you and your friends out in this weather, Angel.” Rutherford shook his head at the gray clouds. “It’s nearly dark, and there’s no telling how much snow we’ll have.”
“Oh, but we can’t stay! We told Lady Archer we’d arrive tonight.” Dinah glanced up at the sky, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
“Better to arrive late than not at all, my dear.” Rutherford gave Dinah’s hand a reassuring pat. “You’re very welcome to stay here tonight.”
Grim cleared his throat loftily. “Indeed, sister, we must stay. Our dear mother will never forgive me if I risk your safety.”
There wasn’t much Dinah could say to that, but she turned a look on Grim that made him flinch. “Since you insist on it, brother, of course we’ll stay, and hope for a better day tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Plumstead, England
December 28th
“What do you think, Grim? When Miss Bishop asks, should I say we…Grim? For God’s sakes, man. What ails you?” Oliver paused beside the coach and frowned up at his manservant.
Poor Grim was looking a trifle green.
Grim cast a wary look over his shoulder before shifting his attention to Oliver. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I thought you were Miss Bishop.”
“No. Miss Bishop is a good deal smaller than me, and she’s generally wearing skirts rather than breeches, what with her being female. I can certainly understand how you’d confuse us, however.”
Oliver grinned to show he was teasing, but Grim was preoccupied with scrutinizing his surroundings from his vantage point on the box, and didn’t notice. “Yes, my lord. It’s just that Miss Bishop is cross with me, and I don’t like to be caught unawares, Miss Bishop being a mite…unpredictable when she’s cross.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry if I were you, Grim. She isn’t likely to harm her only brother, is she?”
This didn’t seem to comfort Grim. He remained vigilant, as if he expected Dinah to leap out from the shadows at any moment and shove him from the box.
“Your attention please, Grim, if you’d be so kind. Now, when Miss Bishop asks, should I refer to our journey today as an adventure, a caper, or a frolic?” Oliver wasn’t usually so unsure of himself, but courtships were a delicate matter, and this one more than most.
“Didn’t you settle on escapade, my lord? I’m sure I heard Miss Bishop grumbling about an escapade.”
“I did, but Miss Bishop has informed she doesn’t care for escapades. I suppose that leaves adventure out too, doesn’t it? A lady who d
oesn’t care for escapades isn’t likely to approve of adventures, either. A Christmas revel? A romp, an exploit?” No, exploit wouldn’t do. It had a touch of the hedonistic about it.
“A lark, my lord? I can’t speak for Miss Bishop, but I’m fond of a good lark, myself.”
“A lark.” Oliver rolled the word around in his mouth, then nodded in approval. “A lark, yes. It’s an innocent, childlike word, isn’t it? You’re brilliant, Grim.”
Grim flushed with pleasure. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
Dinah hadn’t been pleased to discover Oliver wished to go so far south, and he expected she’d demand an explanation from him this morning, but when Dinah emerged from Rutherford Hall, she didn’t spare Grim a glance, and she gave Oliver only a distracted nod.
It was early still, but the hour and the bite in the air hadn’t prevented Rutherford and a half-dozen of his grandchildren from bustling into the drive to see them off. Dinah hurried to scramble into the carriage, but Mathilda ran after her, caught Dinah’s skirts in her chubby fist and refused to let go until Dinah accepted a kiss.
As soon as the coach door closed behind them Oliver opened his mouth to defend the journey south, but Dinah never asked. She didn’t say a single word. He might have been riding in the coach alone for all the attention she paid him.
Well, this wouldn’t do. He’d rather deal with her anger than this distant silence. “You’re preoccupied this morning, Miss Bishop. What’s made you so pensive?” he asked, hoping to pry open the floodgates of her wrath.
It didn’t work. “Am I pensive?” she asked in surprise.
Oliver frowned. She wasn’t acting like herself. “Yes. Is it Grim? Are you still cross with him?”
She gave him a blank look. “No. Why should I be cross with Grim?”
“Well, he did pretend to be your brother, and he was a trifle high-handed, as brothers go.”
“Oh, that. No, no. That was your doing, not his. If I should be cross with anyone, it’s you.”
“Are you cross with me?” If so, he’d just as soon she admitted it and took him to task so they could get past it.
“Not really, no.” She looked taken aback, then shrugged. “Curious, isn’t it?”
“What is it, then? You don’t need to worry about the horses taking a fit again.” After hearing about the debacle with the cows the day before, Rutherford had ordered his own coachman, Ferris, to drive them to Sittingbourne, and then back to Plumstead.
“It was kind of Mr. Rutherford to offer his coachman, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, very kind.” Oliver shifted impatiently against the seat. He didn’t care for this calm, reasonable version of Dinah. “You can’t have any complaint about our host. Rutherford’s a lively, merry soul, just the sort of fellow one likes to visit during the holidays. I’ve never seen a more cheerful, obliging family.”
“Not a single complaint. They’re lovely, and their home is…” Dinah hesitated, then blurted, “It’s like a Christmas painting come to life.”
A Christmas painting come to life? That was a whimsical description, especially for Dinah, who wasn’t one to indulge in whimsy. There’d been a yearning note in her voice, as well. She’d sounded almost…wistful. Oliver studied her with a frown. There was something off about her, some expression on her face he couldn’t decipher—
He froze as it dawned on him what it was.
Sadness. She looked sad.
The day before, when they’d taken tea, she’d seemed bewildered, as if she didn’t know what to make of the joyful tumult around her. Then afterwards, when Mathilda had taken her hand, she’d looked almost frightened, as if those little fingers would somehow drag her down into an abyss.
Oliver couldn’t think of a better place on earth for her to experience the wonder and childlike happiness of Christmas than Rutherford Hall, but mightn’t Dinah have seen it differently? Perhaps it didn’t seem like a blessing to her so much as a false promise, a fragile glass bubble destined to shatter.
She never talked about her family, but Oliver knew her Christmases hadn’t been filled with warmth and laughter, with sugar plums and kissing balls. He wanted those things for her—not just for a single, fleeting moment, but for a lifetime. If Dinah would let him, he’d share his joy with her. If only she could find the courage to reach out her hands and grasp it, it would be hers.
But how did one grasp a thing they didn’t know they wanted? A thing they’d never had, and no longer even hoped to have? Oliver had always regarded hope as a glorious thing, but his hopes hadn’t been crushed again and again. How many times could one be disappointed before hope became a sharp, jagged thing? How long before it became so painful to hope one simply gave it up forever?
He glanced across at Dinah. Her cheek was pressed to the window, her eyes were closed. “What’s troubling you, Miss Bishop? You’ll feel better if we get to the heart of it.”
Dinah must have heard something in his voice—some compassion or tenderness, because her entire body stiffened. Her eyes flew open and she offered him a blank stare. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing’s troubling me.”
“Miss Bishop—”
“I’m fatigued, that’s all.”
Ah, so that was how it was going to be, was it? If the only way forward was to open a crack in her façade and let whatever was inside ooze out, so be it. He’d rather it oozed all over the damn coach and spoiled the lovely velvet upholstery than fester inside Dinah like poison.
As luck would have it, he was quite good at teasing a person into a temper. He had two brothers, after all. “I’ll help you, shall I? Is it the fine wine we drank at dinner last night? The evening spent round the pianoforte, singing Christmas carols? Or was it the dozens of laughing children that upset you?”
Dinah’s only answer was resounding silence.
He tutted when she didn’t reply. “Perhaps it was all that irritatingly fresh greenery scattered everywhere. I loathe the scent of fresh pine, don’t you?”
Dinah pressed her lips together as if to bite back a sharp retort.
Ah, yes. This was working nicely.
“Was it the black kittens that offended you so grievously? Nasty things, what with the soft fur and the warmth and the purring—”
“Stop it, my lord. You’re being ridiculous,” Dinah gritted out through clenched teeth.
“I know!” Oliver snapped his fingers, as if he’d figured it out. “It was Mathilda Rutherford, wasn’t it?”
Dinah glared at him. “Hush, will you? It’s nothing to do with her.”
“Children are tedious, and particularly one so unpleasant as that!” Oliver went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “A kiss, of all ridiculous things. For God’s sake, the child hardly knows you! What does the girl mean, going about kissing strangers? Why do her parents allow it? No good can come from such rash friendliness.”
Dinah’s throat worked, and an irritated flush spread over her cheeks.
Nearly there…
“Those wide brown eyes, and that gap-toothed smile!” Oliver added with an exaggerated shudder. “I wonder you didn’t refuse to present your cheek.”
“I don’t care for children, that’s all,” she snapped.
Oliver was quiet for a moment, then he murmured, “I saw your face, Miss Bishop. When Mathilda Rutherford asked you for a kiss, I saw your face.”
“What of it? I told you, I don’t care for—”
“I saw your face,” Oliver repeated softly. “It didn’t look to me as if you didn’t care for her. Just the opposite. Lie to me if you must, but don’t lie to yourself.”
“You didn’t see anything.” Dinah’s voice rose. “You’ve got a vivid imagination, that’s all.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No one’s imagination is that vivid. Why do you say things you don’t mean?”
She stared at him, her face as pale as death. For the first time Oliver could remember, she looked frightened. “I don’t…I can’t—”
“Yes, you ca
n.” Oliver reached out and took her hand. “One thing, Miss Bishop. Tell me one true thing. That’s enough for now.”
He waited with his breath held. Just one small crack was all he needed—one tiny fracture in that shell she hid behind where he could creep in and open a space for himself in her heart.
“I did sleep well last night.” Dinah’s voice was small, but her gaze met his. “Mathilda gave me one of the kittens to take to bed with me, but it was crying, and I thought it must be cold, so I picked it up and put it on my chest. It burrowed under my chin, curled up against my neck and fell asleep. I don’t think it…she, that is…was cold, after all. I think she just wanted to feel my pulse beating, so she knew she wasn’t alone.”
Alone. Her face, when she said that word…
A lump rose in Oliver’s throat and lodged there, choking off his breath. “Did you have kittens when you were a little girl?”
“There were kittens at one point, I think. I was very young at the time—so young I don’t know how I even remember it. There was a gray tabby cat, quite wild, and she gave birth to four black kittens in our barn. They were lovely little things.” Dinah’s fingers flexed, as if she were recalling the warmth of their soft fur, the vibration of their purr against her fingertips.
He squeezed her hand. “What became of them?”
“I’m not sure. I brought them bits of food until they got old enough to hunt, and I suppose they became barn cats.” She frowned as she tried to remember. “I don’t recall, really. My father left soon after that, and we lost the farm. Those kittens were the closest thing I ever had to a pet.”
“Perhaps you’ll have another someday. Until then, I think you’ll enjoy the Christmas gift I chose for Will.”
Some of the pain drained from her face, and she offered him a weak smile. “Don’t say you’ve gotten him a passel of kittens for Christmas.”