Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  She hung her head. “I am well aware of the goodness of your family, and the lack thereof in my own. But I must learn to accept that I am a mere burden to my parents, unless I marry into the Malcolm family.”

  Matthew’s heart dropped in unison with the single tear falling from Meg’s eyelashes to the window ledge below. He reached out with a soft finger, raising her chin until her eyes met his. He hadn’t touched her so softly since their kiss, and memories of their affection swirled in his mind.

  “You needn’t do such a thing if it causes you unhappiness.” He ran his thumb along her smooth chin. “And they may wrongfully assume you are a burden, but you must know that my family has never thought of you in such a way.”

  She licked her lips, the moisture left behind causing his breathing to shallow. “And you? Do you think of me as a burden?”

  He searched her eyes, still glassy from her tears. “I could never. You are family, dear Meg.”

  He trailed his thumb along her jawline, ending at the base of her ear.

  “Like family,” she breathed. “Like…like Louisa?”

  The words echoed through his ears and down into his heart. He knew what she asked—did he still think of her as a sister?

  Did he? Or was she more, far more than that now? His heart whispered the truth, but his fear, his desire to keep things the same, fought against it.

  His lips parted, but no sound came forth. He was frozen, staring dumbly at the woman whose heart had already been broken by her parents, whose heart was now being trampled on by the man who was supposed to be her friend.

  She blinked, realization donning in her blue eyes. She withdrew from his touch with a whisper. “I see. I understand now.”

  She couldn’t understand, not when Matthew didn’t even understand himself. “No, Meg. I…”

  “That is perfectly fine,” she said, a trembling smile on her lips. “I-I understand, I do. And all is well. Excuse me, but I must return to my parents.”

  She turned, and panic twisted around Matthew’s heart like a rope, one end pulling him toward Meg, the other pulling him back toward that fear of change he could not easily untie.

  “Meg, please.”

  He could say nothing more, his mind and heart in turmoil as she disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps pattered down the stairs, drawing farther away from where he still stood, paralyzed by the fear that he would make the biggest mistake of his life either by following her—or by letting her go.

  Chapter Ten

  Meg looked out of her bedroom window, staring at the stars, bright pinholes in a blackened sky. The moon’s soft glow cast its light across the snowy landscape below, brightening the world’s darkness. She’d always enjoyed Twelfth Night revels, but that evening, she wished to remain there, alone in her room with her thoughts.

  Loneliness was far preferable to what awaited her downstairs—parents who did not love her, and a gentleman who was too afraid to. She did not relish the prospect of spending winter with her parents and the Malcolms, nor of meeting the gentleman they clearly wished for her to marry, but it was more appealing than waiting at Hollridge for Matthew to return from school and still not love her.

  She’d been so encouraged the night of the musicale, what with his jealousy over her time spent with Mr. Kempthorne, but after her last conversation with him, she knew he either loved her and was too afraid to admit it, or he did not love her and was too afraid to hurt her.

  Meg pressed her head against the cold glass of the window, closing her eyes as she drew in a slow, deep breath. She loved Matthew. So deeply it hurt. But she loved him enough to wish him a happy life with or without her. And she could move on. Someday.

  A knock sounded at her door, and she turned in time to see Louisa poking her head inside her room, a smile lighting her face.

  “Oh, Meg. You look beautiful.”

  Meg smoothed down her red skirts. “Thank you. As do you.”

  Louisa wore a soft yellow gown that reminded Meg of the sunshine, only Louisa’s happy expression turned to one of sadness as she watched Meg. “Have you decided yet?”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, I am to go with my parents.”

  Louisa stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I don’t understand. Why do you not stay here with me at Hollridge?”

  Meg lowered her eyes. “I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. But I cannot remain here forever.”

  As wonderful as the idea sounded, Meg was speaking the truth. One day, Louisa would marry, as would Matthew, and Meg would be trapped forevermore at Stoneworth, witness to Matthew’s happiness with his new wife day in and day out for the rest of her spinster life.

  No. It would be far better for her to leave Haxby now. The Malcolms’ cousin sounded like a good man. She was sure she could be happy with him—or with another gentleman she was sure to meet in Scotland—one day.

  Louisa sniffed. “I understand, of course. But I cannot bear the thought of saying goodbye to you this evening, even if it is only until you return to us in the spring.”

  Meg didn’t have the heart nor the courage to tell Louisa she had no intention of returning to Hollridge, at least without a husband. Instead, she raised her chin with a forced smile.

  “Then let us not dwell on our parting just yet. We still have an entire evening together. Shall we not make it a memorable one?”

  Louisa nodded resolutely. “Yes, yes, you are right. We shall enjoy ourselves to the fullest.”

  Meg led the way from her room. “Dance all of the dances. Flirt with all of the gentlemen.”

  “Eat all the food,” Louisa added.

  Meg sighed airily. “That is what I look forward to the most.”

  “As do I.”

  Meg watched her from the corner of her eye. “Are you certain you are not looking forward to seeing Mr. Abbott this evening more?”

  Louisa swung her attention to Meg, her cheeks flushed before she stared straight ahead. “The food. Let us speak more of the food.”

  Meg smiled knowingly. After apologizing for their argument the night of the theatre, Meg had finally listened in shock to Louisa as she shared about her growing feelings for Mr. Abbott, borne from her heart, rather than from her growing older. Since then, Louisa had refused to say anything more about it, though Meg suspected that evening that her friend was about to lose her heart entirely to the gentleman.

  Just as Meg had lost hers to Matthew.

  She pushed the thought aside and continued down the corridor, arm-in-arm with Louisa.

  Tonight, Meg would force herself to remain positive. She would pretend to be well, she would pretend to be more than happy following her parents to Scotland. And she would pretend that her heart was not breaking at the mere thought of leaving Matthew and her true family behind.

  * * *

  Matthew glanced to the stairs for what he was sure was the twelfth time, drumming his fingers against his leg. Where was she? Meg and Louisa were usually late, but not this late. Nearly all of the guests had arrived, and Mother was about to begin the first game of the evening.

  He didn’t know why he was so anxious to see Meg, what with their last meeting ending so terribly. He’d been so fearful of meeting her again that he’d avoided her for two days. But tonight was her last night at Hollridge, and he would never forgive himself if he wasted away another moment that could be spent with his friend.

  His friend. They could still remain friends after everything, couldn’t they? After all, that was what he wanted, to be friends. Anything more and his life would change in ways he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with, and he wasn’t ready for such a thing.

  “Mr. Pratt?”

  Matthew looked away from the stairs to Miss Mosely, who stood beside him, staring expectantly up at him. “Pardon?”

  “I was asking if you were looking forward to the evening,” she repeated in her smooth voice.

  “Oh, yes. Very much so. I trust you are, as well?”

  She nodded, her shining black curls
bouncing with the movement. Mother had chosen a strong contender for the ninth and final woman on Matthew’s list. Miss Mosely was the most sought-after female in Haxby. Not only was she wealthy and of good breeding, she was also kind and generous. Yes, any gentleman would count himself lucky to be asked to spend an entire evening with such a woman.

  Yet, Matthew’s eyes drifted again to the stairs. This time, he wasn’t met with disappointment. Miss Mosely was a beautiful, kind woman, but she was no Meg.

  He couldn’t look away from her. Meg slowly descended the stairs to the front hall, her red dress cascading softly down her feminine form while white lace in intricate patterns stretched across the bodice. Her golden hair formed a halo around her head, and her movements were ethereal, angelic. Breathtaking.

  Two days ago, his mind had been a storm of confusion and worry. He could not answer her question. But now, as her blue eyes met his, he knew the answer.

  No. He did not consider Meg a sister. He considered her something far, far dearer. He considered her as someone he could—

  “Mr. Pratt? Your mother is calling us into the ballroom. Shall we go?”

  Matthew reeled. Thank goodness Miss Mosely had interrupted him. Who knew what he’d been about to think?

  He escorted the woman into the ballroom, grateful to put distance between himself and Meg. He needed to remember the bargains he’d struck, the fact that after tonight, he’d be a free man—free on his horse, and free to keep his life unchanged for as long as he wished.

  A large number of the party moved to the adjacent room to play card games, but more than twenty unmarried ladies and gentlemen convened in the ballroom, where Matthew’s mother explained the rules of the game of characters. Matthew tried to slip away from the group a number of times, but with Miss Mosely paying close attention to him, as well as Miss Josephine’s and Miss Michaels’s eyes in his direction, he had little chance of success.

  “Let us begin,” his mother said, “each of you will draw a slip of paper from this bonnet or this top hat.” She raised the headwear in her hands. “The character you will play will be written on your paper, and you are required to stay in character for the rest of Twelfth Night. Should one fail to do so, or should one call another by his given name and not his character’s name, then he or she shall have to pay a forfeit.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “And I must warn you, the forfeits this evening may or may not involve a harmless kiss or two.”

  A few giggles scattered around the group, but Matthew closed his eyes with frustration. Mother must be upset with him for not falling in love with any of the nine and was now making a final effort to push him into matrimony. He was well aware that she thought marriage would be the solution to his finally accepting change in his life.

  Well, if a kiss with Meg hadn’t made him love her—because it hadn’t, really—and make him want to change his way of life, then a simple kiss with other women wouldn’t work either.

  He ignored his tossing stomach at the thought of kissing a woman beside Meg and drew his character from the top hat. Unfolding it, he read the name with dread. Sir Harry Hoax. He had to be the worst character of the evening, duping women by pretending he loved them, only to drop them for another.

  Was fate playing a cruel joke, telling him that he had done the very same to nine women? He’d done his best not to give them false hope, but…what had he done to Meg? And in turn, what had he done to himself?

  He pushed aside the disconcerting thoughts and joined the large circle of guests forming to introduce their characters. He kept his eyes off Meg, though he could see her watching him from the corner of his eye.

  “Think you can slip away for a moment?”

  Matthew started at his father’s whisper in his ear. He turned to see him moving toward the doorway. Matthew faced forward, glancing around the group. He would miss the introductions of the others’ characters if he left now, but that hardly mattered. He wasn’t planning on participating in the game for very long anyway. He never did. But could he escape without notice in the circle? Perhaps not by everyone, but by Mother, yes.

  He waited until she turned her back before making his escape, soundlessly striding across the dance floor and slipping through the door without a glance behind him.

  “What did you need, Father?” Matthew asked as he joined him in the front hall.

  Father merely sent him a cryptic smile before motioning his head to the side. “Follow me.”

  They made their way to the front door, passing a few late-comers and sneaking out of the house. As they followed the emptied carriages around the corner of the house toward the stables, Matthew knew at once what Father had planned.

  They stood outside the stables, and Father’s smile grew. “Your prize, son.”

  Just then, a groom exited through the large doors, leading behind him one of the most spectacular horses Matthew had ever seen. The stallion’s black coat glinted in the lamplight from a passing carriage, contouring his large muscles and the angles of his sleek face. His thick mane and tail blew haphazardly in a soft breeze, and as he clopped against the gravel, the feathers above his hooves fluttered up and down.

  Matthew accepted the lead from the groom, shaking his head in awe. “He is magnificent, Father.” The horse tossed his head with a whinny, and Matthew grinned. “And a spirited one at that.”

  “A perfect match for you,” Father said with a chuckle.

  The stallion stomped his hoof in the gravel again, and Matthew reached forward, soothing him with a low hum and soft rub to his forelock. “We shall become great friends, you and I,” he whispered.

  The horse snorted, air puffing around him, as his ears rotated from front to back. What a creature he was. Matthew had never seen his equal. Accomplishing his parents’ tasks was well worth it, knowing this steed was now his.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you, Father. But I must ask, why do you give him to me now? I have hardly spoken with Miss Mosely this evening.”

  Father came up next to him, patting the horse’s side. “I thought you deserved a little encouragement to finish off the night. Besides, I hardly think you will fall in love in a single evening, especially if you haven’t in a fortnight.” He paused, watching Matthew from the corner of his eye. “You haven’t fallen in love with any of them, have you?”

  Matthew scoffed, his throat growing suddenly dry. “Of course not. I told you your deal was easier than Mother’s.”

  Father chuckled. Matthew stroked the horse’s neck and avoided his gaze.

  “Right,” Father said. “I think we ought to return indoors now before your mother grows suspicious, yes? I hardly think she will appreciate me stealing you away at the beginning of her game.”

  “But I certainly appreciate it. I will join you in just a moment.”

  As Father made for the house, Matthew gripped onto the leather lead of the horse, struggling to maintain a similar hold of the excitement he felt slipping from his fingers.

  What was the matter with him? He deserved this horse. He had worked hard for this horse. He had met with each of the women and hadn’t fallen in love with a single one of them. So why couldn’t he shake this ridiculous guilt, this feeling that he had just lied to himself and to his father?

  He should be celebrating this evening. He had almost completed his parents’ wagers. He was almost free. And yet, he felt more confined than ever. His fear of change had caged his spirit, prevented him from admitting what he truly wished for, who he truly wished for, in his life. And as magnificent as this stallion was, he wished for something, someone, more.

  As the groom led the horse back into the stables, Matthew’s heaviness increased, a darkness entering him blacker than the steed. He slowly made his way back to the house and into the ballroom, so dejected, he didn’t notice his mother approaching him until she spoke.

  “How nice of you to join us, Matthew,” she said with an accusatory look. “Your character has been introduced for you. And, as we still have our bargain, I ex
pect you to be attentive this evening to Miss Mosely and any other woman with whom you may come in contact. Understood?”

  Matthew nodded, barely hearing her words.

  “Matthew? Are you well?”

  His eyes wandered about the room, a frown puckering his brow.

  A moment passed by before Mother spoke again, her voice softer than before. “The characters of the king and queen this evening have requested for the dancing to begin early. Please, find a partner so there shall be no woman seated at the side tonight.”

  She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze then walked away, but Matthew hardly noticed. He was already watching the dancers in the middle of the ballroom, one dancer in particular.

  Meg’s cheeks were rosy as she weaved in and out of the couples in the set, the folds of her red gown and white ribbon fluttering as she danced to and fro. Once again, Matthew’s breath was taken away at the sight of her.

  He was not supposed to be staring at her. He was supposed to be finding a partner. But how could he be light on his feet when his heart was so unbearably heavy? How could he dance with anyone this evening, when the only woman he wanted to dance with was already occupied?

  Slowly, the words sunk in, and his lips parted in surprise. The only woman he wanted to dance with was Meg.

  He tore his eyes away from her, glancing out over the other dancers and realizing only then that the nine women from Mother’s list were in attendance that evening, each of them now dancing before him.

  Miss Paulson moved gracefully alongside her partner, Mr. Richards, her face aglow as she smiled up at him. Miss Michaels, just as she’d done on her skates, danced in quick movements, as if competing to see who could finish first.

  Miss Russell was partnered with Mr. Kempthorne—a fine match for the vicar, as they were no doubt reciting scripture to each other—while Miss Warren danced beside her sister, looking rather bored. Miss Josephine, however, seemed to be enjoying herself as her hands lingered in her partner’s far longer than necessary.