He slipped his hand into hers and she rather wished they hadn’t bothered to put their gloves back on. After unlocking and opening the door, he poked his head into the hallway before announcing, “All clear.”
Once they’d left the room, he said, “We’ll go back the way we came. Much less likely to be thought having participated in something untoward.”
“Why is it considered wrong when it feels so lovely?” she asked.
“It’s only wrong if it’s done out of wedlock.”
“Only if a lady does it out of wedlock. You fellows can have it as often as you like whenever you like with whomever you like and no one criticizes you.”
“True, although I wouldn’t say that to just anyone. Such talk could create quite the scandal.”
“I think it might be fun to create scandal.”
“Easy enough to say until you’re the object of it.” She knew he was thinking about his father and how his actions had brought scandal to the family. She’d been too young to understand when she was a child, but whispers of his death in a tavern maid’s bed still surfaced from time to time. Little wonder his mother despised her.
When they reached the back stairs that led into the gallery, he stopped, brought her hand to his lips. She felt the warmth of his kiss through her glove. “I’ll go up first. Count to twenty, then follow. If I determine our absence has been noted, I’ll go on ahead. If you don’t see me, carry on to the ballroom. Coming in separately should dispense any rumors.”
His plan made her dizzy. So many games played in his world. Still she nodded and watched him go.
They made it to the ballroom without anyone the wiser regarding their absence. He was grateful to once again have her in his arms as they circled the dance floor. In the library, it had cost him to stop. He’d no doubt be aching all night. He wanted her. No, it was more than that. He needed her.
However, Ashebury was correct. Even in the gallery, he’d seen people observing her as though she were a curiosity, yet no one approached, no one asked for an introduction. It would be worse in London. If her father were a landowner or possessed wealth, it might be different. But he was the village baker and she was the baker’s daughter.
When the dance came to an end, she gave him a sad smile. “It’s nearly midnight, time to return to reality. I’d like to say goodbye to your mother.”
Of course she would. While his mother’s behavior toward Linnie might be abhorrent, his friend was not one to be ugly in return. He didn’t know if he’d ever met anyone with a disposition as kind as hers.
They found the marchioness engaged in conversation with Greyling’s and Ashebury’s mothers, no doubt plotting their next scheme for getting their sons married. His mother moved away from her friends to greet them. Or admonish them. Her mouth was set in a hard line, her eyes flinty.
“You were gone from the ballroom for a while,” she pointed out.
“We went for a stroll, as many of the couples are doing,” he told her.
“Based upon how long you were gone you must have shown her the entire residence.”
“Hardly.”
As though sensing the building of tension, Linnie said, “I want to thank you for the lovely evening, Lady Marsden. I suspect it shall always remain one of my favorite memories.”
“I’m glad you found the night to your liking.”
“I found it interesting. I do hope your son’s marriage will bring you happiness.”
His mother’s gaze snapped to his. “Have you decided?”
“Not yet. Tomorrow perhaps. Now I’m going to see Miss Connor home.”
“Surely the maid you borrowed earlier can see to that.”
“She’ll be riding along, but I shall serve as escort as well. There could be highwaymen lurking about.”
His mother scowled. “Not on the road between here and the village.”
“Still, I’d best make sure. I won’t be long.”
He led Linnie out of the ballroom, retrieved her wrap, and located the maid. When they were settled in the coach, his dearest friend in the entire world said, “I really did have a lovely time, George.”
The coach turned onto the main road. There was no lantern lit this time. The moon coming in through the windows provided just enough light that Linnie could see Marsden’s silhouette as he reached up and banged twice on the ceiling. The driver pulled the vehicle to a stop. A footman opened the door.
“M’lord?”
“Sarah is going to ride up top to the village. Keep her warm.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
Without a word, Sarah scampered out and the door closed.
“What are you doing?” Linnie asked.
“I want to be alone with you.” He moved over to her bench, took her in his arms, and kissed her.
As the coach began an extremely slow journey, she melted against Marsden, reached up, and threaded her fingers through his hair. He drew her onto his lap, angled her head slightly, and took the kiss deeper. Eventually he pulled back.
“I shall never be able to walk through Havisham without seeing you there.”
She couldn’t stop her triumphant smile. “Good. I want to haunt you.”
“Oh, you haunt me, Linnie, in ways you can’t imagine.”
“Do you think we’d be friends if you were the blacksmith’s son?” she asked.
“I should think so.”
“Would we be more?”
He looked away. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be a very fancy life.”
“I don’t need fancy. I also need to give this back to you.” She unlatched the necklace and held it out to him.
“Keep it. Please.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.” Taking his hand, she dropped the emerald and chain into his palm and closed his fingers around it.
He studied his fist as though it contained some dark secret. “My mother would never accept you.”
“I know.”
“Society … they didn’t exactly welcome you tonight.”
She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I don’t need them. I had you. That was enough.”
“I wish I was the blacksmith’s son.”
“I don’t.” She kissed one corner of his mouth. “You are who you are supposed to be: my dearest friend. And that’s enough.”
With a groan, he blanketed her mouth. This, she thought, would be their last kiss. She would make the most of it. So she returned it with equal fervor and enthusiasm, absorbing his strength, his warmth, the scent that was unique to him. So much she loved about him, so much she would miss. But it was time to put away childish dreams.
The coach had been moving so slowly that it took her a moment to realize that it had stopped completely. Drawing back, he skimmed his fingers over her cheek. “Happy Christmas, Linnie.”
“Happy Christmas, George.”
He slid her off his lap, moved back across to his bench, and tapped the roof. The door immediately opened. He stepped out, then handed her down. She wasn’t surprised to see her father standing in the doorway of the shop, his arms crossed over his chest.
She started to walk away, then stopped. “Whoever you choose, George, she will be a very lucky lady indeed.”
Then she skirted past her father and entered the shop. She heard the door close.
“Are you all right?” her father asked.
With a nod, she headed for the back of the shop and the stairs that would lead to her bedchamber, halfway wishing that Father Christmas was real and would bring her what she truly wanted for Christmas: an eternity spent with the Marquess of Marsden.
Chapter 6
Linnie loved the smell of freshly baked bread, found it comforting, especially on Christmas. Once she’d put away the ball gown, she’d discovered it was difficult to sleep, holding all of the wonderful moments close, reliving them, knowing they would stay with her forever. Still, she had tossed and turned much of the night, wondering if Marsden had made his choice. She had little doubt that he’d returned to the bal
l to dance and flirt into the wee hours of the morning. He was probably still at it when she crawled out of bed at four to begin helping her father with the baking.
In addition to the bread, she’d prepared a large caldron of stew that she was now ladling into crocks that she would distribute to those who might otherwise go hungry this day. Giving to others was one of her favorite things to do.
The rap on the back door to the kitchens had her glancing over at her father. He merely shrugged and shook his head before returning to his task of removing the last of the golden-brown loaves from the oven. It was nearly seven so it was quite possible that a villager was anxious to claim some bread. They’d been gifting bread to those in need for as long as she could remember. Some had come to expect it.
But when she opened the door, she was surprised to find Marsden standing there. Surprised and glad. She shouldn’t be so happy to see him, not when there could never be more between them than a friendship, not when she wanted more, not when it was quite possible that he’d adhered to his mother’s wishes and made a decision regarding whom he would take to wife. Perhaps that was the reason he was here now, to tell her of his selection, to ask for her opinion. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s snowing. I thought you might welcome the use of my coaches for making your deliveries.”
Glancing past him, she saw three carriages lined up. The snowfall was light, nothing she hadn’t trudged through before. “I’m not sugar, George. I won’t melt if I get a bit wet.”
“Do you really want to deliver soggy bread?”
No, she supposed she didn’t.
“Besides, with my carriages, you’ll also get my assistance so you can finish a bit earlier.”
“What about your guests?”
“They’ll be abed until noon at least.”
She couldn’t imagine sleeping most of the day away. “All right, then. Come on, give us a hand.”
Most of Marsden’s favorite memories involved Linnie. As the coach traveled slowly along the road, it was difficult to acknowledge that very few of his future ones would include her.
She sat across from him now with baskets of bread stacked on either side of her, while boxes of covered tins and crocks wedged him in. After taking her home the evening before, he’d returned to Havisham to dance and visit with the ladies listed on parchment in his mother’s precise script. He’d invited each one to accompany him this morning for his annual pilgrimage with Linnie to see to the needs of those without. To a one they’d all declined.
“Did you get much sleep?” he asked her now.
“A couple of hours. I enjoy Christmas too much to spend it in oblivion. I’ll sleep in tomorrow.”
He doubted that.
“What of you?” she asked. “What did you do after you left me?”
“Danced a bit. Drank a bit more. Lost at cards. Won at billiards.”
She glanced out the window at the open countryside. They were heading to some houses on the outskirts of the village. “Did you make your mother happy?”
“I’m beginning to think she is happiest when she is unhappy.”
Smiling, Linnie shifted her gaze over to him. “Does that mean you didn’t choose a woman to court?”
“Not yet. Not from among those on her list anyway. They bored me.”
“Were you trying, George? Did you give them a fair shake?”
How like her to worry about someone else, the fairness of their life. “I was quite open-minded.”
“Did you want to discuss any of them with me?”
“No, I don’t think any of them will suit.”
“Pity. I don’t want you to get lonely when I leave.”
His chest tightened and it felt as though his throat was striving to knot up. “When are you leaving?”
Lifting a delicate shoulder, she sighed. “Probably not for another year. I don’t yet have enough money to see me through for the hard times. I know success won’t come straightaway. My father has never been shy about sharing the struggles of owning a business. But I welcome the challenge of it.”
Of course she did. She was the most optimistic and courageous person he knew. “Do you fear failing?”
“No. I fear never giving it a go. Failure at least means one tried, doesn’t it?”
He held her gaze. “I asked a pointless question. You won’t fail. I believe that with all my heart.”
“Your belief in me means the world to me, George.”
He wanted to give her so much more than his unconditional belief in her. He wanted to be the one to give her the world. Not that she’d take it. She wanted to earn it for herself.
The coach came to a stop. Linnie moved up to the edge of her seat. “Grab two of the tins, will you, George? Mrs. Wilkins lost her oldest boy to a fever a couple of weeks ago. I doubt she’ll be up to cooking a holiday dinner for the family.”
By the time their visit was over, Mrs. Wilkins wasn’t even going to be warming the stew that Linnie had brought for her. Instead she and her family would be joining the Connors for a meal at four that afternoon. By the time the last of the bread and crocks had been given out, George reckoned there would be nearly twenty people gathered around Linnie’s table for a meal that afternoon—which meant when she returned home she’d begin preparing a meal for her guests.
Today wasn’t the first time that he’d gone on the charitable rounds with her, but it was the first time he’d noticed how beloved she was, how kind and generous she was to others. She knew everything about everyone: who’d been ill, who’d suffered loss, who was to marry, who would soon be giving birth.
She truly cared about these people in a way his mother never had, in a way that he wanted his future wife to care. He wanted a partner who was interested in more than gossip, balls, and the latest fashions.
When they finally arrived back at the shop, he was weary but she appeared more invigorated.
“Thank you for coming with me, George,” she said as he handed her down.
“I don’t know where you get your energy.”
“Helping others always revitalizes me.” Rising up on her toes, she brushed a quick kiss over his cheek. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Then she was bouncing toward the door.
“Will you be coming out with the carolers tonight?” he called after her. A group from the village always came to the manor on Christmas.
She spun around. “Of course. Perhaps this year, you’ll sing with us.”
“You’ve heard me sing. I’m atrocious. If any of the ladies in attendance heard me perform they’d turn down my suit, without question.”
She laughed, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “Then they don’t deserve you.”
Before he could respond, she’d disappeared into the house. But perhaps she had the right of it. Did any woman deserve to be married to a man who would always love someone else?
Chapter 7
Marsden heard the carolers, voices lifted in song, long before they actually arrived. Every year they strolled up the road from the village, regardless of the weather. This night, the snow continued to fall occasionally but the chilled winds whipped over the moors relentlessly. Most of their guests were still in residence, having enjoyed an abundance of goose and trimmings earlier in the evening.
Various games were being played in assorted parlors, but he’d been waiting in the front room, sipping his scotch, reflecting on the conclusion he’d drawn regarding the woman he wanted to marry. After returning home from his morning excursion with Linnie, he’d given additional attention to each of the ladies on the list his mother had provided. Exceptional candidates all. Lovely, demure, with a lineage that would do his heir proud. He’d spent the afternoon listening as each entertained with the pianoforte. He made time to get each alone—or as alone as possible with chaperones hovering—for a bit of conversation.
By the time the sun had set, he’d made his decision. He knew without a doubt whom he wanted for a wife. He’d already spoken with her fat
her, gained his permission to ask for her hand. Was determined to do so before the night was done. He was not generally struck with nerves, but he knew it was quite likely she would turn him down.
As the carolers’ voices became louder, he spied them approaching, downed the last of his scotch, and set aside his glass. He’d always looked forward to this moment on Christmas. As a lad, he’d wanted to join them, but his mother had always forbidden it. Not proper to mingle with those beneath them. Yet he found the villagers more fascinating than he found those in his social sphere.
As he headed into the foyer, the guests began pouring from the other rooms, no doubt drawn to the siren chorus of “Silent Night.” When he spotted his mother, he opened the door and waited as she led the women out. Most stood beneath the portico to shield themselves from the gently falling snow. Once it was obvious that some were going to stay indoors, he excused himself and eased his way through the ladies, edging past the tight gathering until he reached the steps and was able to quickly descend. He heard some footfalls behind him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one not adverse to a little snow. His actions seemed to spur others to venture out a bit more.
By the time he was standing in front of the carolers, there was a nice gathering of his guests behind him. He was aware of Ashebury and Greyling on either side of him, the ladies they’d taken an interest in clinging to their arms, no doubt seeking some warmth. As for himself, he didn’t feel the cold. All his attention was on Linnie, third caroler from the right on the front row. Her father was two rows behind her, a head taller than the woman standing in front of him. In all, there were probably fifteen to twenty carolers, some holding lanterns.
Only a heartbeat of silence filled the air before “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” floated around them. It was silly to imagine he could distinguish Linnie’s voice from the others, and yet he could have sworn his ears were attuned to her. He even imagined her fragrance reached him, when that was impossible as the cold dulled so many senses, but it sharpened his vision as he thought she’d never looked lovelier. She held his gaze, and he felt as though she were saying farewell.
Making Merry with the Marquess Page 6