Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Disagree,” Matthew said, using, indeed, a single word to tease her.

  She pointed her eyebrows at Meg. “You see?”

  Meg held her muff closer to her mouth, attempting to hide her growing smile. As humorous as the scene was—and as much as it reminded her of their childhood—they couldn’t waste any more time than they already had.

  “Come now,” she began, glancing between the both of them, “will you not set your quarrels aside so we may enjoy this morning together?”

  Louisa closed her eyes and released a soft sigh. “You are right, dear Meg. It is good of you to remind us to forgive one another, as usual.”

  The girls looked expectantly at Matthew next. He raised both hands in a defensive pose. “I had no quarrel to begin with,” he said. Then after a pointed look from them both, he dropped his hands. “Very well. I shall do my best to keep my comical comments to myself. For the morning, at least.”

  “Wonderful,” Meg said, pleased at her ability to yet again smooth over one of the twins’ disagreements.

  Voices sounded nearby, and they turned to see a small group of servants—two housemaids and one footman—coming from around the house to join them. Their arms were filled with empty baskets and gardening shears. Together, their numbers were not spectacular, especially with Mr. and Mrs. Pratt not joining them this year, but there were enough of them to get the job done properly.

  She rubbed her hands excitedly together inside her muff. This was one of her favorite traditions of the Pratts during the holidays. Her parents had always tasked the servants alone to gather the greenery and decorate Stoneworth, if they even chose to trim the house at all. Hollridge, however, was always filled to the brim with festive greenery and red berries.

  “This should be everyone, Meg,” Louisa said. Her voice was muffled as she raised her shoulders, her mouth disappearing behind her scarf. “Now do tell us where to go before I freeze to death in this awful cold.”

  Without Mr. and Mrs. Pratt there to take charge, Meg was the obvious choice, as Matthew did not typically join them for the activity and Louisa did not enjoy being assertive.

  Meg, however, didn’t mind. She stepped forward. “I think we ought to do the same as last year. Separate into a few groups to make the task swifter.” The group collectively nodded. “Louisa, you and Harriet may gather the ivy and holly. Then you will be closer to the house for a quicker return.”

  A shiver wracked Louisa’s body as she smiled at one of the housemaids.

  Meg continued. “I’ll take Grace and Colin with me to gather the hawthorn berries and evergreen branches. And Matthew,” she turned toward him, forcing herself to focus on speaking rather than the soft dimples in his cheeks, “you go to the apple orchard and find what mistletoe you can growing on the trees. I spotted quite a large patch at the far east of the orchard, near the pear tree.”

  He lowered a single eyebrow. “You mean I must venture forth alone?”

  Meg hesitated. She needed a man to carry the basket for her, as the pine branches would be exceptionally weighty, which was why she’d thought to bring along Colin. She would have suggested Matthew joining her instead of the housemaid and footman, but she didn’t wish for Louisa to feel left out.

  “Meg,” Louisa said, as if reading her very thoughts, “I wonder if we should not leave him alone out there. What if he tries to eat one of the mistletoe berries? Then who would be here to tease us insufferably over the coming weeks?”

  Matthew chuckled at her jibe. “Now who is teasing?”

  “I have learned from the best.” They shared a smile, evidence that all had been forgiven from before. “Truly, though, Meg. I think it would be best if you let Grace and Colin see to the mistletoe while Matthew helps you with the boughs. Knowing my brother, he is bound to do something wrong. You must keep him in check.”

  Meg laced her fingers together, suppressing the excitement bubbling within. This was all too easy. Louisa had practically dropped Matthew straight into Meg’s lap.

  Meg hadn’t had much opportunity to speak with Matthew alone since the masquerade, but this would certainly resolve that issue. There was nothing untoward about the two of them going unaccompanied into the forest, either. They were dear friends, after all, and they had certainly been alone together before. Of course, she didn’t have the feelings then that she now had for him, but no one needed to know such a thing.

  “I suppose that will do,” she said, slowing her words to avoid sounding too eager. “Will that suffice?”

  Matthew’s eyes shone. “I believe I can tolerate a few moments alone with you.”

  She looked away, fearing her fawning eyes might reveal too much of her feelings. “Shall we meet back in the drawing room when we have all finished?”

  Louisa nodded, backing away with an impish grin. “I wish you luck with him, Meg. You most certainly will need it.”

  She spun on her heel before Matthew could respond. The housemaid Harriet scuttled along beside her as they made their way to the left side of the house.

  Meg borrowed a pair of gardening shears and one of the baskets from the footman before she and Matthew headed south toward the woods.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” Meg asked as they walked across the grass beside each other.

  Their breath floated around them in white puffs of air, their noses tinted red from the cold. The rain the night before had frozen to each blade of grass, covering them in frosted crystals. With each step, small pops echoed as the miniscule ice cracked beneath their boots.

  “You are mad,” Matthew said, holding their basket in front of him, the shears tucked safely inside. “No sane person could enjoy this cold.”

  She huffed. “You call me mad? What of your own sanity for teasing your sister?”

  Matthew smiled, his lips taut from the cold. “I cannot help myself, you know this.”

  “Hmm. Will you now tell me what you said to her?”

  “I was merely teasing her about Mr. Abbott. The squirrel.”

  Meg stopped. “Oh, Matthew, you shouldn’t have. She’s quite upset about the whole business. She’ll hardly speak to me about him. He must have made her so uncomfortable the entire masquerade, following her around like a lovesick child.” She shook her head. “Besides, you know she cannot bear your teasing. Quite like your mother.”

  “Unlike you,” he returned.

  She eyed him. Was he upset or pleased that she was not so easily frustrated with his teasing? Before she could decipher either, they reached the hawthorn trees standing at the edge of the woods.

  The crimson red of the berries that pervaded every leafless branch contrasted radiantly against the dark green pines behind them. A gray robin with an orange breast stood perched on a low limb, its feathers puffing out to form a downy sphere around its body. As Meg and Matthew approached, the bird twittered out a trill whistle and took flight to a higher branch.

  Meg paused beneath the first tree, looking up at the berries that dotted the clouded sky like red stars. “Would you mind cutting the branches higher up? They have more berries on them.”

  Matthew nodded and placed the basket on the ground. He reached up, using both hands to wield the shears. The snipping of branches and the pattering of Meg’s boots as she collected the berries were the only sounds that broke through the silence.

  After dropping her gathered handful into the basket, she straightened with her eyes on Matthew. He arched his head back, his thick scarf covering his neck, but she could just make out his angled jaw as he moved back and forth. Meg reached down and retrieved another branch, trailing her eyes across the contours of his chin.

  “Is it to your liking?” he asked.

  Yes, it certainly was to her liking.

  “Meg?”

  Matthew met her eyes. He raised his brow expectantly. “The branch,” he said, motioning to her hand. “Is it filled with enough berries?”

  Meg’s eyes lowered to the bough of berries she waved toward her like a fan cooling down her face—a
n action she was entirely unaware of until that moment. Her cheeks stung, and this time, it was not from the cold.

  “Oh, yes, thank you,” she said in a rush, dropping the berries into the basket.

  Matthew’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before he resumed his cutting. He reached toward a higher branch, his voice strained as he stretched upward. “I take it you are happy to be returned to Yorkshire?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “And you do not mind spending the winter away from Stoneworth this year?”

  She regarded him inquisitively. “Have I ever minded such a thing?”

  “Well,” he paused, snipping off another branch, “I only wondered, what with your spending the holidays with your parents last year, if you wished to do the same again this year.”

  She sniffed. Since the Pratts had moved in, Meg had been dropped at their doorstep every winter so her parents could visit the Malcolms, childhood friends of Meg’s father. The couple could not have children of their own, so Meg was never invited to join them. She was told she would be “too great a reminder for what the Malcolms could not have.”

  She had believed the excuse when she was younger, but now she knew better. Her parents simply did not want the responsibility of looking after a child, no matter the governess being tasked with most of the work when Meg was younger or how responsible a young woman Meg had grown to be.

  Last year, however, the Malcolms had been ill, so Mother and Father had spent the winter with Meg. They hadn’t bothered to decorate Stoneworth, nor did they attend any parties or gatherings, having Meg do the same. They’d merely remained indoors, feeling sorry for themselves for not being in Scotland. To have made matters even worse, Meg was only able to see the Pratts once or twice before Matthew returned to university for the term. It had been some of the worst weeks of her life.

  She pushed aside the unpleasant memories, focusing instead on piling the berries into the basket. “If having my parents home during the holidays has taught me one thing, it is that I prefer them to be taken up with the Malcolms. They are far happier there, and I am far happier at Hollridge.”

  Matthew lowered the shears. “We are far happier with you here, as well.”

  She swallowed, their gazes catching. What was hidden deep within his hazel eyes? Love, friendship, or mere kindness?

  “You know my parents have always considered you a daughter,” he said, looking away to slice through another branch. “And Louisa and I have always thought of you as a sister.”

  A sister? So he saw her the same as he did Louisa. Of course, she should have known, but hearing the words aloud made her stomach twist and her hope to sink faster than the berries plummeting through the air, landing with a muted thud into the dirt below.

  * * *

  Matthew wanted to kick himself as he took in the sight of Meg’s hollow eyes and turned-down lips. Why the devil had he brought her parents up? “I’m sorry, Meg,” he murmured, picking up one of the branches he’d cut down.

  She looked up at him. “For what?”

  “For mentioning your parents.”

  Anger flamed within him, lapping at his throat. He couldn’t understand the Bakers, their lack of responsibility, their lack of love for their only daughter. Of course, he was happy that Meg had spent so much time at Hollridge growing up. She was his dearest friend. But he couldn’t bear the sadness her selfish parents evoked within her.

  “I know how you dislike speaking of them,” he said.

  She ducked her head so her cloak’s hood covered her face. “Things are better this year for both me and my parents.”

  He kept his eyes on her, the shears hovering below the branches. She was repressing her feelings again. Had her parents contacted her lately, said something to make her more upset than usual? Either way, he wouldn’t press the issue any longer. He wouldn’t have her become more upset.

  “Have we enough berries, do you think?” he asked, motioning to the basket a third of the way full.

  “Yes, this should do nicely.” She looked beyond the hawthorn trees to the pines at the edge of the woods. “On to the evergreens then?”

  He followed after her, noting her sunken shoulders and slower gait as her cloak rippled near her boots. He wanted his carefree friend back, the one who expressed her love for the cold, whose positive attitude always helped others to feel the same.

  He reached her side, nudging her with his elbow. “Has the cold finally gotten to you?”

  She gave him only a hint of a smile, the corner of her lips tucking in. “Perhaps.”

  The smell of the pines blanketed them as they reached the trees and weaved their way around the thick trunks and protruding roots. After deciding on a thick grove of low-hanging branches, Matthew followed Meg’s directions as she pointed to which boughs to cut.

  “I’m sorry your mother forced you out here in the cold,” she said, setting the greenery in the basket atop the berries. “I’m sure this is not how you envisioned your time away from university.”

  “No,” he said, “but I don’t mind it. Especially the company.”

  There it was, the shining in her blue eyes, the soft curve of her lips.

  He continued, his shoulders a little straighter, just like hers. “This is a welcome reprieve, though, I must admit. The classes were fairly easy this last term, but I suspect they will become more difficult.”

  “For how long do you aim to attend?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Well, when you do finish, are you looking forward to helping your father with Hollridge and your tenants?”

  He lowered the shears for a moment, returning the feeling to his arms. “I haven’t really thought much about it. Besides, Father is doing well enough on his own. I would no doubt get in his way if I attempted to help him now.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment. You are very capable, Matthew.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “At any rate, I believe you are just delaying your duties. You never were one to have a thought or care for your future.”

  “That is true. I simply do not feel the need to plan ahead when my present is as perfect as I could ever wish it to be.”

  Meg gathered the pine boughs, laying them in her left arm as she watched him from the corner of her eye. “So you do not wish to change a single thing about your life?”

  He stared inattentively at the pine needles strewn across the forest floor. Before moving to Hollridge House, his family had lived in a small home in Lincolnshire. When Father’s distant cousin passed away with no heir, the Pratts sold their house, relocated their family, and moved to Yorkshire. Since then, Matthew had found it easier to live his life without plans or expectations than to have them disrupted.

  Before university, he’d refused to decide between Eton or Harrow for college, so his parents—kindly not wishing to uproot his life again—had hired a private tutor instead. A few years later, Father had to choose Oxford for him, as Matthew did not wish to make plans to attend, on the likelihood that they might fall through.

  Living such a way prevented heartache and disappointment and brought endless ease and comfort. How could he wish for anything more than that? Short of his mother ending her interference in his life, which he would finally have in a fortnight, his life was fairly perfect the way it was.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I’d change a single thing about my life and the way it is right now. I’m quite happy.”

  He expected her to congratulate him on his contentment, but she merely dropped the cuttings into the basket.

  “That will be enough, I think,” she said. “If we cut any more, you’ll not be able to carry it back to the house.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you questioning my strength after complimenting it earlier?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Very well.” He extended the shears toward her, handles first. “If you will but hold these, I shall prove to you my strength.”

  She retrieved the shears, and he li
fted the basket, letting out an exaggerated groan. “You see?” he grunted. “I am stronger than ten men combined.”

  A few branches slid off the top of the basket, and Meg bent down to retrieve them, keeping hold of them. “Yes, a veritable Hercules, you are.” Her tone was still short, but her lips fought off a smile.

  He took a few steps forward, hardly able to see over the mound in the basket. “If you will but direct my path so I will not plummet to the ground and wound my pride, I would forever be in your debt.”

  “Very well. Come along.”

  As they traversed slowly through the forest and over the grounds, Meg warned him when a root jutted forth, the grass dipped down, or another step was to be made, until they finally reached the warmth of Hollridge House.

  He lowered the basket to the floor in the front hall as Meg closed the door behind them. He shrugged off his great coat and removed his gloves, handing them to a passing footman.

  “There,” he said to Meg, “you see how capable I am to have made it all that way without any…help?”

  He looked back at her, her arms filled with more than a dozen large branches and the shears.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You were saying?”

  “Where in heaven’s name did those come from?” he asked, posing his best innocent expression.

  She shook her head, walking past him. “When you have recovered, bring those boughs to the drawing room, please. Louisa must have arrived already. She will have been waiting for ages, what with how long you took walking back with your little basket.”

  She disappeared down the side corridor without a glance back.

  Matthew chuckled to himself. He’d always admired Meg’s ability to brush off his jibes and deliver them right back. It was even more entertaining than Louisa and Mother’s squirming.

  “Matthew?”

  He turned to his mother, who had seemingly appeared from his thoughts. She moved down the stairs at the right of the room.

  “Good morning,” Matthew greeted. “I trust you enjoyed the warmth of your bed whilst the rest of us suffered in the cold?”