Her breath hitched. She could only wait and hope and trust God that the earl might share her feelings. Surely he could not marry anyone else. He could not. It was unthinkable!
She chuckled self-mockingly, her breath wisping white in the cold air. How much like Grandmama was she?
Moodiness broken, she tickled Nicky awake. “Come on, lazy boy. Back to work.”
Cold air nipped her face as she resumed the clearing begun months ago. Albert had been ill, the chilly air no good for his cough, and she’d been happy to exert herself physically after the confines of the past month. Weeks of neglect had allowed weeds to proliferate, but recent rain made them easy to remove. The fresh air and exercise invigorated, as did her prayers, wherein she asked for blessings on her family, Eliza, Mrs. Foster, Sophy’s nuptials, Charlotte, even Clara. The shadows of her heart were soon overthrown, as she concentrated on making this patch of garden as it ought. Perhaps she had no ability to determine other outcomes, but this, this she could.
Nicky growled and then trotted off to chase a moth—his preference for flying insects, just like his uncle Mickey. She smiled, wiped hair from her eyes, and rose from her kneeling position. Mud clung to her skirts, but that did not matter; only the bravest of souls ventured a visit on days like these. As soon as she removed the pile of rose cuttings that still remained from months ago, she would go inside and clean up.
Nicky’s barking grew more agitated. She turned. Dropped the dead branches. “Lord Hawkesbury!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Ellison. I did not mean to startle you.”
Why was he here? What did she look like? What must he think of her? She covered her confusion with a smile. “Have you come to scold me for gardening?”
“Of course not. I know your father’s man—Albert, is it not?—is unwell and should stay out of the cold. I imagine Hettie is quite busy caring for him.” He added softly, as if to himself, “Mrs. Florrick can send over meals and the like until he is better.”
“How do you know that? Have you been here?”
He nodded. “Several days ago. I met Danver and his new bride—who both seem happier than I ever recall having seen them. Lady Danver finally explained the reasoning behind her appellation as Miss West.” His expression grew wry. “I do not blame her in the slightest.”
“They left this morning.”
“And no doubt you miss her already.”
She nodded, heart keening at his understanding. She drew in a deep breath. Blinked. He continued to stand before her: tall, handsome, kindness in his lips and eyes. No figment of imagination.
He gestured to the rose cuttings. “Is this all that remains to be done? Where should they go?”
“But your coat!”
“Can be cleaned.” He smiled. “And I have others.”
She watched in amazement as the tall, once-proud man collected the branches and followed her to place them on the pile to be burned. When he had disposed of his burden, he brushed off the dirt, stripped off his gloves with a rueful smile, and returned with her to the garden. She slipped her muddied gardening gloves into a pocket, wrapped her shawl tight, and looked up.
He smiled, stepped close, and gently wiped her cheek. “There. You had some mud.”
“Oh. Thank you, my lord.”
He sighed. “Nicholas. What will it take for you to call me Nicholas?”
“You are being nonsensical, my lord. I cannot—”
“You can. It’s not nonsense—it is my name, after all.”
He seemed lighthearted, playful even. Why was he here? Would that she could ask! “Will you come inside? Papa will enjoy seeing you again.”
His brow knit. “Do you wish to be rid of my company?”
“No! Not at all.”
The contours of his face softened as he continued to gaze at her, a small smile on his face. Wind rushed over grass. Dead leaves shivered in the trees. Somewhere a crow cawed. Coolness pinched her cheeks as his intent perusal continued. “My lord?”
His look grew rueful. “How I wish that were true.”
“Pardon?”
“I wish that you truly regarded me as yours, because, dear Lavinia, I would truly like you to be mine.”
Her breath caught. Did he mean—? No. He could not. Now she was being nonsensical!
She spoke quickly, “So, are you here for the wedding?” He looked startled, so she reminded him. “Sophy and Thornton? The banns have been posted for three weeks. They are terribly excited. Papa is inside working on his address for Sunday.”
“Banns. I forgot …” He shook his head.
He was acting most peculiarly. “Do you want to go inside?”
“No, not yet.” His brow furrowed. “Unless you are cold.”
She shook her head. For some reason, his presence made her warm.
He took possession of her hand. Heat stole up her arm as he led her to the carved seat and lowered himself beside her. The late afternoon light revealed gold glints in the depths of his eyes as his gaze remained fixed on her.
“I … I am sorry I did not get the chance to say goodbye before I left London.”
“Lady Exeter was a little concerned about your hasty departure.”
She sighed. “I thought I’d explained things, but I could not stay. I had to visit my grandmother.”
“The duchess. Yes, I know.”
Her brows rose.
“I visited her, too.”
She blinked. Why? Surely it wasn’t—No. She strove to keep her voice light. “That must have been a highly pleasant experience for you.”
“Pleasant, no. Instructive, yes.”
“Oh.” Her spirits plunged. “You know I’m supposed to have money, do you?”
“I learned that your inheritance is dependent on whether you marry according to your grandmother’s wishes. I also learned that your grandmother does not approve of your choice.” He shifted closer. “Now, I know I’ve allowed pride to govern much of my thinking over the years, but I couldn’t help hope this meant you might not be entirely impartial to me.”
Fire scorched her face.
“Ah, Miss Ellison remains so eloquent even without words.” Sweetness lit his features as he smiled.
She studied his eyes, full of tender clear light, the quirked eyebrow, the lips so full of humor and wit, the jaw slightly shadowed yet firm and sure. A thousand butterflies seemed to have taken residence within her. She swallowed. Swallowed again. “You still have not explained what you are doing here.”
“I need to speak to your father.”
Disappointment crashed against her chest. She glanced down.
He gently cupped her face, lifting her chin until her eyes met his. “It is customary, is it not, when a man seeks to pay his addresses to the lady he loves?”
“He loves?”
“He loves.”
The butterflies rose, fluttering as one. A delicious warmth stole across her heart. He loved her! He loved—
“But your mother!”
“Will behave.”
“And my grandmother—”
“Need not concern us.” He smiled. “Us. I like the sound of that, don’t you?”
He brushed his fingers down her cheeks, tracing heat along her skin, his expression one of wonder. “How could he not love someone so pure, so lovely, who charms with her words, her voice, her deeds?” His fingers reached her lips, his eyes darkened. “No man should dare touch these lips, unless he is prepared to love and cherish their owner until his dying day.” His thumb gently touched her mouth.
Her breath caught.
“Now, I know I have been accused of holding few poetical aspirations, but I did find something most apt in Uncle Robert’s Shakespeare: ‘She is a woman, therefore may be wooed; she is a woman, therefore may be won; she is Lavinia, therefore must be loved.’” He captured her other hand.
Her heartbeat quickened. This was not a dream!
His smile grew pensive, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you can be won.”
“
I can,” she whispered.
“Tell me you can love me.”
“I do love you, Nicholas.”
His eyes filled with softness. “You speak my name like music.” He pressed his lips to her hands. “Lavinia, tell me, will you marry me?”
Joy saturated her soul, preventing utterance. She could only offer a small nod.
He wrapped her in his arms, bent his face, and claimed her lips with his own.
Heat streaked through her, curling her toes, stealing her breath. The butterflies escaped, dancing in wild delight. Joy quivered in and around her as he kissed her tenderly, possessively, fiercely, reverently. Her hands stole around his neck, her senses melting as he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead’s scar.
Just when every part of her was set tingling, he drew back, an expression of wonder on his face. “I can hardly believe the elusive Miss Ellison deigns to be held by one like me.”
“One like you?” She smiled. “Only you, dear Nicholas.” She offered her lips again, thus diverting his chuckle as he accepted her invitation for another long, delightful moment.
“Come, my dearest, most lovely Lavinia. Let’s find your papa and tell him his daughter shall soon be his neighbor.”
And together they walked from the cooling shadows into the warmth and light.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A NOVEL CAN be but a dream, written on a heart, locked in a computer, destined to forever remain unread, unless others believe the dream is worth bringing to reality. I’m so thankful to the following for making this dream of mine come true.
Thank You, God, for Jesus, the Ultimate Gift, for giving this gift of creativity, and for the amazing opportunity to express it.
Thank you, Joshua, for your love and encouragement. You are so much better than Mr. Darcy—because you’re real.
Thank you to my four wonderful children—I’m so proud of each of you, and the creativity God has blessed you with. I’m blessed to be the mum of such smart, witty, nice children.
To my family and friends, whose support I’ve needed when I felt like giving up—thank you. Big thanks to my sister, Roslyn, who first shared her love of Georgette Heyer, and my mother, Kay, and sister in Christ Jacqueline, for being patient in reading through so many of my manuscripts.
Thank you, Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, for helping this little Australian negotiate the big wide American market.
To my editors and the fabulous team at Kregel, thank you for making Miss Ellison look so pretty and read so much better.
Finally, thank you to my readers. A novel is merely words on a page until someone reads them. I hope you enjoyed reading mine.
God bless you.
Visit carolynmiller.org for a book club discussion guide and more about upcoming titles.
REGENCY BRIDES
A LEGACY of GRACE
BOOK 2
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 31