Snowbound Surrender

by Christine Merrill

  And condemned and pitied if they fall short.

  ‘They can be, I imagine,’ he agreed. ‘Here, give me that dratted cat, he must weigh a stone. Shall I feed him?’

  ‘If you would.’ Julia dumped Fred in his lap and the cat glowered at him. Giles was in no mood to back down to a feline with delusions of grandeur. He stuck Fred under one arm and went to investigate the larder, ignoring the growls and grumbling.

  From the kitchen Julia continued to talk as though she was working out a plan from the beginning, rather than explaining her intentions to him.

  ‘If I find that it answers, then I will hire a small house in a respectable district and employ a genteel companion to lend me countenance. I could come back to Spinsters’ Row in the height of the summer, or even visit one of the seaside resorts.’

  There was a pile of meat scraps in a bowl under a saucer and Giles took them out and dumped them on to Fred’s plate, set it down and stacked up some broken timber in the corner while he was crouched down. ‘Julia, do you want that small wooden box and that broken cask in here?’

  ‘No, not at all. I was going to use them for kindling. Why?’

  ‘Just an idea.’ There had been some tools in the lean-to, tidily hanging on the wall above a bench. He picked up the box and one of the cask ends, a perfect wooden circle. ‘May I use your tools?’ he asked, retrieving his hat and scarves.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Julia was standing in the middle of the kitchen, lost in thought, and he wondered if she had even heard him properly.

  ‘Don’t you want to marry anyone?’ he asked, one hand on the latch of the back door.

  * * *

  Perhaps one day I might find a gentleman I like and who likes me and then, with no pressure from anyone else, I could make up my mind about marriage. But I am not going to take advantage of a man I like rather too well, just because he feels he ought to offer for me.

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so,’ Julia said lightly. ‘And certainly not for the sake of it and not because of circumstances.’

  Giles made an ambiguous noise and went out into the lean-to with his odd armful of wood.

  Some aspects of marriage did seem desirable... Julia glanced at the door and then hastily away. Very desirable and tempting, but dangerous for a single woman. She shivered. It had been a narrow escape that morning: not from Giles but from her own sensual desires.

  If she did ever find someone else... She stopped that thought dead in its tracks. If she found someone, the theoretical gentleman would not be an aristocrat, of course. That was aiming too high and, in any case, if there were any unattached ones around of the right age there was something wrong with them, no doubt. She looked again at the door. Or even if there was not, they would be rackety, high-living lords putting off matrimony until a suitably well-bred, well-dowered lady came along and the passage of time and the need for an heir forced them to do their duty.

  Like Giles. Lords are all very well for kissing, what you need, my girl, is a nice rural dean or perhaps a country doctor...

  Julia checked through the house, performed a few housekeeping tasks, trying very hard not to think about Giles Darrowby and what might have been if she had succumbed to temptation and accepted his very dutiful, and doubtless most unwilling, proposal. She liked him, she found him intelligent and amusing and good company. He had been wonderful with Annie and the baby, patient with Miss Jepson and Miss Margaret and their anxieties. And he stirred something deep and wonderful inside her that she wished had remained undisturbed.

  But, she told herself as she came back downstairs with her hands full of handkerchiefs that she had edged with lace and lavender bags that she had filled in the summer, I will not settle for anything other than a love match like Mama and Papa, and I do not care if that makes me hopelessly unworldly and provincial. How awful to be married to a man who felt trapped into it.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you cold? You shivered,’ Giles said as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘You made me jump! What are you doing?’

  Giles was sitting on the rug in front of the range, rasping at something with a file. ‘Making a cradle for the baby. I saw that Miss Jepson had a pile of little blankets and so on and I think they were looking for a drawer to make a bed in, but this would be better, don’t you think?’ He sat back and she saw that he had cut the cask lid in half to make rockers and secured them under the box.

  ‘Oh, how clever! How on earth do you know how to do woodworking?’

  ‘From the estate carpenter. I used to haunt his workshop as a lad, especially when my tutor was planning a Latin lesson. Not that this is anything very complicated.’ He set it rocking. ‘No joints to dovetail. If you’ve got something like an old blanket to cut up we can line it. I found some round-headed tacks out there which would fix it safely. How do you come to have so many tools?’

  ‘Dorothy’s brother is a carpenter and he stores some of his things up here. I’ll find a blanket, there’s sure to be one in the scrap box.’

  They cut and pleated the blanket, which was a soft cream wool one, banged their fingers hammering in the tacks, created a thicker pad for the base and finally leaned against each other with a sigh of pleasure at the result.

  ‘That is surprisingly satisfying,’ Giles said. ‘Master William should be snug in that.’

  ‘Such a good idea of yours,’ Julia murmured, finding that it was also surprisingly satisfying to lean against Giles’s shoulder and share their small triumph.

  He reached out and set the cradle rocking on the worn rag rug. ‘I will feel like one of the kings, bearing gifts,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘Which reminds me, I have some presents to wrap. Only handkerchiefs and lavender bags, but if the ladies are entertaining us to dinner, I thought I should take a token. There should be a jar of sweets in the larder. I’ll wrap those up for Molly, I’m sure she’ll prefer them to sensible handkerchiefs.’

  She began to get up, but Giles was on his feet first and offered his hands to help her. It was difficult to let go once she was standing, hard to move away from him. It was just his warmth in a room that was chilly despite the banked fire, she told herself. That and a reluctance to break away from the emotional warmth that working on the cradle together had generated.

  They were quite still, only touching where their hands clasped, yet she felt as though she was naked, skin to skin with him, her every nerve, her every thought, bared.

  If he kisses me now I will not let him stop. If I just take one step forward...

  Chapter Seven

  Giles drew a deep breath and Julia released his hands before he could move or speak.

  ‘I’ve some silver paper in the dresser somewhere.’ She talked as she searched, covering the sudden awkwardness. ‘And some ribbon in my sewing basket. I can make these trifles look quite festive, I think.’

  Presents. Focus on gifts, not on that moment just now when all I wanted to do was to melt into the arms of the man behind me. I still do.

  With an effort she made herself think about the fact that it was Christmas, that they were expected back at Bluebell Cottage in a few minutes.

  Presents.

  But she had nothing for Giles, unless...

  She looked thoughtfully at the larder door and mentally reviewed the contents. Yes, the very thing. And exceedingly warming for a man who ended up in snowdrifts with remarkable regularity. If she could just get him out of the house for a while.

  ‘Giles, could you go into the front garden and cut some holly? Ours has got much better berries than the bush in Bluebell Cottage garden.’ As soon as he was gone with a pair of small shears she went to the larder and searched the racks under the stone slab. Yes, one last bottle of ginger wine remained, although wine was perhaps too mild a description for its fiery potency. The curate had become quite tipsy on two glasses last Christmas, even breaking in
to a most inappropriate popular song when he had called with the carol singers, involving a bishop, an ass and a passing milkmaid.

  She swathed it in brown paper, added some very masculine dark brown and orange ribbons, wrapped the bonbons for Molly along with a length of hair ribbon and put them in the bottom of her basket under the silver-paper-wrapped parcels. She was just in time before Giles came in with an armful of holly, thick with blood-red berries.

  ‘That is perfect, thank you. If you put it into this sack, we can carry it without getting pricked.’

  ‘There is something in the front garden I want to show you,’ Giles said, as he wrestled the holly into the sack.

  Julia followed him down the hall and out of the front door and stood looking out over the view from the top step. ‘It is becoming cloudy over the Vale. Perhaps rain is coming from the west.’ The clouds were massing, heavy and grey, but without the tint to them that spoke of snow, and the wind held rather less chill than it had first thing. ‘Yes, I think a thaw is coming. And then you can escape,’ she added as she followed him down towards the gate, crunching through his footprints.

  Giles came to a halt under the bare branches of the old apple tree that, in the spring, showered anyone entering the gate with pink and white blossom. ‘Yes, I could,’ he agreed, his voice expressionless. ‘A fine old apple, this.’

  Julia nodded, wondering why he wanted her to look at her own tree. ‘It still bears a small crop, despite its age, and the thrush sings from the very top of it. I think he likes the view.’

  ‘Look up high, on this side. I don’t expect you can see it from the house.’

  Julia moved round to his side of the trunk and tipped her head back, squinting through the tangle of branches. ‘It really needs pruning. Oh! Mistletoe.’

  They were standing very close and she clutched at his arm to steady herself, dizzy from looking upwards, but Giles did not move. When she lowered her gaze to meet his eyes he was watching her, his gaze dark and intense. ‘Mistletoe is always a good excuse to snatch a kiss at Christmas, but I do not want to snatch, Julia. Nor do I want to beg or to present you with a decision that will cause you worry. We are skating on thin ice, I think, and I can hear it crack every time we touch.’

  He shook his head, as though exasperated with himself. ‘Now we are standing here I regret bringing you out to see the mistletoe. I should have had more self-control because something is happening and I do not know whether it is simple proximity or Christmas magic or something more, but—’

  Julia went up on tiptoe, hands on his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his, sealing in the words. Giles kissed her, his mouth moving over hers, gentle yet intense, their breath clouding the chill air between them. She did not want to think, did not want to hope or wish for more than this. Dare not, because this was surely founded only on starlight and snowflakes.

  And ice cracking beneath us.

  ‘Julia.’ He stood looking down at her and she wanted to cry, or to run away or to reach up and pull his head down again.

  ‘Julia, dear! Mr Darrowby! Yoo-hoo!’

  The front door opened and there was Miss Margaret, bundled up like a multicoloured snowwoman, Miss Jepson peering over her shoulder. ‘Oh, do forgive us for coming through the house like this, but we became anxious when you did not return. The snow is so treacherous and there are so many ditches and hollows.’

  Her sister came past her and down the steps into the front garden. ‘We came armed with our shovel and broom in case you needed help.’

  They stood together, beaming at the pair under the tree, and Julia conjured up a bright smile from somewhere. ‘I am sorry you were anxious. I had some domestic matters to arrange and we were just gathering some holly, the tree has such good berries. I thought you might like some cut for decorations at dinner. But we are ready to come back now.’

  They all trooped back into the house. Julia checked Fred’s water and took the basket of presents, Giles threw the remains of the blanket over the crib and picked it up under one arm with the sack of holly in his free hand and set off towards Bluebell Cottage, Miss Margaret at his heels.

  Her elder sister held back a little and good manners compelled Julia to slow her pace. ‘Such a considerate and pleasant young man, the Viscount,’ Miss Jepson remarked quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ Julia agreed, then stopped dead. ‘You know who he is?’

  ‘I recognised him—he is the image of his father, whom I knew years ago in London, and of course I know that the family name of the Viscounts Missenden is Darrowby.’

  ‘Er...’ Julia racked her brains for something to say.

  ‘And it was a godsend that he was here last night, although how he came to have midwifery knowledge I cannot imagine. Or is he simply a very good actor?’

  ‘He helped the wife of one of his gamekeepers in an emergency. He thought that a little knowledge and a calm manner might help matters.’

  ‘It most certainly did. And you know him well?’

  ‘Not at all. We had never met before. He took refuge with me when he was trapped by the heavy snow.’

  They stopped and watched as Giles helped Miss Margaret over the wall and the two walked on, apparently talking about the woods, from the gestures Miss Margaret was making.

  ‘What a strange collection of clothing—I could swear that is a livery coat and breeches with the buttons changed.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Julia made herself smile and wondered if the Spanish Inquisition was any easier to deal with. ‘What he was wearing when he arrived was completely wet and he was very cold.’

  ‘Quite. You will forgive me, my dear, but you have no mama to advise you—young gentlemen of the aristocracy, however pleasant, do have a somewhat cavalier attitude to female virtue on occasion.’

  ‘I assure you, Lord Missenden has done nothing to alarm me,’ Julia said, praying the cold was keeping the blushes from her cheeks.

  ‘You may not have been alarmed, but, forgive me, only one bed was slept in last night,’ Miss Jepson said drily.

  Oh, Lord, I should have thought to make the beds...

  ‘Yes. Lord Missenden fell asleep fully clothed, exhausted. I looked in, went to pull off his boots, which did not wake him, sat down to adjust the covers and I must have dropped off, too. It was all perfectly, um, proper.’

  They had reached the wall and Julia lifted her basket over, then turned to help the older woman. Miss Jepson stayed where she was, mittened hands clasped together, a look of determination on her face. ‘That is as may be, but he had already spent one night under your roof, had he not? My dear, the Darrowbys are high in the instep, as the saying goes. There is no doubt of what is the right thing for him to be doing now, but one cannot rely on the nobility to always take that attitude with ladies who are not quite their equal in rank, particularly if those ladies are unprotected, as you must appear to him to be.’

  Julia stopped, well short of the gate to Bluebell Cottage, and waited for Giles and Miss Margaret to disappear into the back yard before she spoke, schooling her tone into a calm reasonableness with an effort. ‘I do appreciate your advice and warning, Miss Jepson. But as nothing at all untoward occurred and as no one but you and Miss Margaret know of the circumstances, I cannot feel that there is anything more to be said. Lord Missenden will be on his way as soon as it thaws sufficiently for him to reach the village.’

  The older woman sighed, then climbed over the wall. ‘It would be a very fine match, my dear,’ she said as they entered the yard.

  ‘I cannot contemplate life with a man on whom a marriage has been forced by duty and obligation.’ Julia found she was losing her temper. ‘And I do not care even if he should be a duke!’

  ‘Who is a duke?’ Giles opened the back door for them, then closed it on the cold as they hurried inside.

  ‘Oh, simply a figure of speech.’ Julia set down the basket and began to unravel her sc
arves and coat. ‘Where are Annie and the baby?’

  ‘Asleep in the parlour. Miss Margaret is making up the cot with the little blankets and coverlet that she and Miss Jepson have been making.’

  ‘It is delightful,’ Miss Margaret announced, standing back with a flourish to display the crib. She set it rocking. ‘See what clever Mr Darrowby has contrived, Caroline.’

  ‘Most ingenious. And what a good idea to bring holly, Julia. We have been so much distracted by anxiety about Annie that we have neglected to decorate the house this Christmas. Why do you and Margaret not create some arrangements in the dining room and light the fire in there? I think we should all take our Christmas dinner in style this year and if Mr Darrowby would be so good as to move the sofa in there once Annie is awake, then she can join in as well.’

  ‘Of course.’ Giles picked up the log basket and the small hatchet for splitting kindling. ‘I’ll bring in wood before it gets dark, shall I?’

  ‘Most kind, Mr Darrowby,’ Miss Jepson murmured. She hesitated and he glanced at her, arrested by a look of indecision on her face that seemed out of character. ‘Mr Darrowby, you will not hurt her, will you?’

  He almost said, Who? But there was no need, really, they both knew whom she was talking about. ‘I have no intention of doing so,’ he said stiffly. ‘Miss Chancellor will come to no harm through me.’

  ‘I do not mean physical harm,’ Miss Jepson said, blushing slightly. ‘I mean her feelings.’

  The hatchet slipped through Giles’s fingers, landing with a thud and just missing his toes. He set the log basket down and straightened up to his full height. ‘I can assure you, ma’am, I do not trifle with a lady’s feelings.’

  ‘I am sure not. Not intentionally. But she watches you when she thinks you are otherwise occupied. And you watch her and I do not think it is simply because you are a man and she is an uncommonly attractive young woman. But of course, she is doubtless beneath your touch—I do know who you are, my lord, although I think it would be best if the other members of the household are in ignorance of the fact. Things slip out, however careful one is about gossip.’