Snowbound Surrender

by Christine Merrill

  ‘I thought you might have left,’ she said. He hadn’t been at breakfast with the rest of the family and Cecilia had half-expected to see him emerging from the kitchens after making his own morning meal.

  ‘I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Your mother hasn’t persuaded you to stay for the ball?’

  Joe grimaced. ‘She’s tried her very hardest.’

  ‘I wish you well for your journey,’ Cecilia said. She knew it sounded like a dismissal, but it felt too painful to sit and talk with him. After seeing him with Rebecca yesterday she had spent a maudlin evening feeling like a fool. A fool to think that Joe would ever care for her. In her mind she’d told herself that they couldn’t be together because he still had some residual feelings for the woman he’d been engaged to. That had hurt, when she had thought that he cared for a woman who had rejected him more than he cared for the woman standing warm and willing in front of him, but at least that had been an understandable reason.

  When she saw how little Rebecca had affected him it had been like a knife to the heart. He wasn’t deciding not to pursue a future with her because of any external reason, which meant it was just because he didn’t care enough.

  ‘I could stay, if you wished,’ Joe said quietly. ‘If you wanted me to.’

  She glanced up, but couldn’t read the expression on his face. Slowly he came to sit beside her, his legs brushing against hers and their bodies far too close for propriety, but the door was closed and they were unlikely to be disturbed.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed spending these last few days with you, Cecilia,’ he said and for a moment she forgot all the pain she felt at not being able to have this man in front of her and basked in his words.

  ‘And I you.’

  He reached out and took her hand and Cecilia felt her heart thumping in her chest. For years she’d told herself she was quite content to be alone, to grow old a spinster without a man by her side or in her life. And she had been, until she’d met Joe. Now she wanted so much more. She wanted him.

  ‘Perhaps our paths will meet again one day.’

  She looked at him, waiting for him to say more, and then shook her head sadly as all her hopes came crashing down.

  ‘That’s it?’ she asked, aware she sounded a little hysterical.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She tried her hardest to keep everything bottled up inside, but something gave way and all the hopes and desires of the last few days came rushing out. ‘You kissed me, you looked at me with fire in your eyes. You made me like you, you made me want to change my entire life plan to be with you and all you have to say is “Perhaps our paths will meet again one day”.’

  ‘Cecilia, I never promised you anything. I shouldn’t have kissed you...’

  ‘No, don’t take that away as well.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, resting a finger under her chin and waiting until she looked up at him.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, feeling the hot tears fall on to her cheeks. ‘Just go.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you like this.’

  ‘Why not? We’re just strangers who were thrown together for a couple of days.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ He wiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb, smiling sadly as he did so. ‘I like you, Cecilia. I like you more than I have any right to.’

  She shook her head. She didn’t want him to like her, she wanted him to feel so much more.

  ‘But I wouldn’t be any good for you. I’m not the sort of man you need as a husband.’

  ‘What do you know about what I want or need?’

  ‘Trust me, Cecilia, I’m not the man for you. I’m not the man for anyone.’ He glanced down for a fraction of a second as he said this and Cecilia found herself frowning.

  ‘Because of your leg? I don’t understand, Joe. You can walk, ride, do a hundred other physical activities. Yes, you limp and you aren’t allowed to do the one thing you devoted the last ten years of your life to, but that doesn’t make you any less of a man.’

  She watched him, tried to work out if her words were having any impact. If only he could see that to her it didn’t matter if he was injured or not, if he always walked with a limp. It didn’t matter if he had lost his direction for a while, that was only natural after being cast out of the life you’d lived for so long. All that mattered was that she cared for this man in front of her, cared so much she suspected she might love him.

  ‘It’s not my leg,’ he said slowly, as if struggling to find the right words to convey what he was feeling. ‘I lost so much more than a chunk of flesh when I was injured...’ He trailed off.

  Ten seconds ticked past, then twenty, and Cecilia found she was holding her breath. Her whole life, her whole happiness, depended on what Joe said next, whether she’d managed to persuade him that the only person he was hurting by refusing to move on from his experiences was himself.

  ‘Cecilia,’ Elizabeth said, bursting into the room.

  They’d only been sitting next to one another, but guiltily she and Joe jumped apart.

  Elizabeth registered their presence, the closeness of their bodies, but didn’t say anything. Cecilia frowned—either her friend had suddenly grown tactful or something she deemed more important had caused her to rush in here.

  ‘He’s here,’ Elizabeth hissed, motioning out the door.

  ‘Who?’ Cecilia had images of her guardian storming Hawthorn House, righteous indignation in his eyes. There would be no point, of course, with her birthday tomorrow, but Mr Turner was the sort of man to do it anyway.

  ‘Your suitor, The Wet Rag.’

  ‘Peter’s here?’ Cecilia asked, frowning. Peter Turner wasn’t the sort of man to turn up anywhere uninvited. Not on his own initiative at least.

  Standing, she smoothed down her dress, refusing to look at Joe. If she did, he would see the heartbreak in her eyes, and she wanted to keep hold of the last of her dignity. She’d bared herself to him, tried to show him his reasons for thinking she would be better without him were unfounded, but still he wasn’t budging.

  With her head held high she walked into the hall, taking in the sodden form of Peter Turner dripping on the wooden floor. It must have started snowing again; Peter’s hair was plastered to his head and his coat was heavy with water.

  ‘Peter,’ Cecilia said, noting the curious faces peering out of the open drawing-room door, ‘what brings you here today?’

  He grimaced, swallowing twice in a movement that made the prominence in his neck bob up and down erratically.

  ‘I was concerned for your welfare,’ he said, reaching out to take her hand, but deciding against the movement halfway through, leaving his arm dangling out in front of him as he looked around. ‘I wanted to make sure you got here safely.’

  Cecilia narrowed her eyes. The Wet Rag was not a bad man, not like his father. He had been kind to her over the years in his own way, protecting her from the worst of his father’s schemes and the older man’s wandering hands when he got drunk. The worst she could say about him was he was in his father’s thrall. Peter hadn’t had an original thought for a long time, or at least he hadn’t voiced one, but for some reason she wondered if he had come here of his own accord. Surely old Mr Turner didn’t think there was any chance of her giving in now and agreeing to marry Peter the day before she came into her inheritance.

  ‘Father doesn’t know I’m here,’ he said, smiling ruefully. ‘Although he probably would approve.’

  ‘Peter...’

  ‘Might I have a word in private?’ he asked, his words coming out in a rush and his face turning the colour of a robin’s breast.

  Cecilia blinked, trying to find some cohesion in her thoughts, but struggling to understand what was happening. She still couldn’t quite believe Peter was here, there was no reason for him to be.

  Slowly she nodded, stepp
ing back and leading the way into the library, starting as she saw Joe looming by the fireplace. His eyes narrowed as he took in Peter’s wet form.

  ‘Would you excuse us?’ Cecilia asked, not able to look at the man who only a few minutes ago had crushed her hopes.

  ‘You need a chaperon,’ Joe said curtly. ‘I’ll stay.’ He crossed to the door and closed it, turning round to face them, a stony expression on his face.

  ‘I say, I promise not to compromise Cecilia,’ Peter Turner said, looking a little nervous at saying what he had come to say in front of Joe.

  ‘Lady Cecilia,’ Joe corrected him.

  ‘Yes. Well. Lady Cecilia.’

  ‘Pretend I’m not here,’ Joe said.

  Cecilia snorted, an unladylike sound that caused both men to turn and look at her.

  ‘You’re not exactly unobtrusive,’ she muttered.

  ‘I suggest you start talking, Mr Turner. Lady Cecilia has a ball to ready herself for this evening.’

  Shaking her head, Cecilia turned so she could only see Joe out of the corner of her eye, but even that was far too distracting.

  ‘Right. Yes. Well. You see...’

  ‘Time is ticking,’ Joe said. Cecilia shot him a dark look, he was enjoying this far too much.

  ‘Cecilia—’ Turner started to say.

  ‘Lady Cecilia,’ Joe corrected again.

  ‘Can you excuse me for a moment?’ Cecilia said to Peter, not waiting for his answer and trying to ignore the lost-puppy expression on his face. She marched over to Joe, grasped him by his crossed arm and pulled him out the door into the hall.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Guarding your honour.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not. You told me you didn’t want to be forced into marriage by a man ruining your reputation, I’m just making sure that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘And why do you care?’

  He was silent for a few seconds and Cecilia saw something darken in his eyes. Shaking her head, she slipped back into the room, closing the door behind her. She had to grit her teeth as she heard the door open behind her again, but resisted the temptation to turn around.

  ‘Peter,’ she said, ‘please continue.’

  ‘We’ve known each other a long time, Lady Cecilia,’ he said, glancing nervously over her shoulder where no doubt Joe was glowering at him. ‘And over the years I have grown to care for you. I know you don’t love me, but I’m asking for a chance. A chance to show you what life could be like together.’

  He reached out and took her hand in his and Cecilia had to fight to resist the urge to pull away. His hand was moist with perspiration and gripped hers limply.

  ‘Would you do me the great honour of marrying me?’

  ‘Was this your father’s idea?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Well, not exactly. He’s been going on for years about me marrying you, but he doesn’t know I’m here today.’ Turner looked at her hopefully and Cecilia wondered if he had thought there was a chance she might say yes.

  ‘Peter, it is very kind of you to ask...’

  ‘Please just consider it, Cecilia. I know you haven’t been happy living with my father these last few years, but I’m not him. I’m my own man. We could have a very contented life together.’

  ‘And my money?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘Would remain yours. I could sign a document or something. This isn’t about the money, Cecilia.’

  Behind her she heard Joe snort and turned to scowl at him.

  ‘If you’re going to interrupt, I will have to ask you to leave,’ Cecilia said primly. Part of her hoped he would—it would be easier to let Peter down gently without a hostile Joe as an audience. The other part of her, the part she was wishing wasn’t so weak, was still hoping he might spring into action, declare his love for her and bundle Peter Turner out of the room.

  ‘Give the man his answer,’ Joe murmured.

  Cecilia glowered at Joe, all the disappointment and sadness combining to make her feel anger at his behaviour. ‘If you have ever had any respect for me, you will leave right now,’ she said, her voice icy.

  She turned back to Peter, her breath catching in her throat as she heard the soft click of the door behind her. He’d gone. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself.

  ‘I’m sorry, Peter,’ she said. ‘It was kind of you to ride all this way in the snow, but I’m unable to accept your proposal.’ She said the words softly, but still saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

  ‘Of course. I knew that would be your answer, but a man has to ask.’ He took her hand again and gave it a squeeze. ‘Best of luck, Cecilia. I brought a small bag of your things with me, just a few bits and bobs I thought you might need.’

  After a moment he dropped her hand and began to move away and Cecilia felt a surprising bubble of affection for him.

  ‘Peter,’ she said as he reached the door. He turned round with an expression of hope. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me. For protecting me from your father.’

  He shrugged. ‘A better man would have done more.’

  Then he was gone, slipping out of the door and most likely out of her life.

  Chapter Ten

  Joe kicked the snow with his boot and grumbled under his breath. It had been a hell of an afternoon. After he’d left Cecilia in the library with Peter Turner asking for her hand he’d retreated to his room, his head spinning with regrets and self-recriminations The first of the guests had begun to arrive and he hadn’t wanted to be forced to make small talk with anyone as he left Hawthorn House. So instead he had decided to wait until the ball was in full swing, when everyone would be occupied, to make his escape.

  He should be halfway back to Rose Cottage by now and instead he was only a few feet from Hawthorn House. He’d left, walked out the door, but something was pulling him back.

  Not something. Someone. Cecilia. The woman he’d told a few hours earlier that he couldn’t be with her. That he couldn’t give her what she wanted. That he couldn’t make her happy.

  It was the truth. He was convinced she needed a man who could be her social equal. Who could escort her to balls and dinner parties, ride out on the hunt with her. He wasn’t that man. For the past year he’d shut himself away from the world, he wasn’t ready for the scrutiny of being married to the richest woman in England. She needed a man with a purpose, a man who knew what he was doing with his life, who contributed to the world.

  And yet...here he was. Still standing in the freezing snow outside Hawthorn House. Unable to walk away.

  ‘You’re a fool, Crawley,’ he muttered to himself. Although whether he was a fool for staying or a fool for ever letting Cecilia go in the first place he wasn’t sure.

  For a moment he closed his eyes. Let the memories of the last year wash over him, the loneliness, the self-imposed exile from the world. His penance for surviving when so many others hadn’t. The rehabilitation from his injury, the sympathetic looks and well-meaning enquiries to his health, all that had made him feel less of a man. That had made him retreat into his own little sanctuary.

  ‘Enough,’ he murmured. It was time to take his place in the world once again. He was going to stop hiding away, stop moping for the life he’d lost. Tomorrow he would make a start on cracking the codes Theodore Long had sent him and take his old friend up on the offer of work to serve his country even though he was no longer fit for the army. And, most importantly, he was going to do all of it with the woman he loved by his side.

  With his head bent against the fresh snow that was falling he made his way back to the house.

  Although the ball had begun an hour ago the carriages carrying the guests who were not in residence were still pulling up, travelling slowly to stay safe in the snow on the ground and in the air. Inside he could hear laughter and merriment and,
as he worked his way through the people on the threshold, he felt the warmth of the house hitting him.

  Glancing around, he didn’t immediately see Cecilia. He kept his head bent, trying to avoid being pulled into conversation with any of the guests, and moved from room to room, all the time his eyes searching for the woman he hoped would give him another chance.

  ‘Major Crawley,’ a voice called out and Joe stiffened. It was Rebecca, of course it was. She was weaving her way towards him and the eyes of the other guests were surreptitiously fixed on them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as she reached his side. ‘I’ve somewhere else to be.’

  He’d spotted Cecilia. She was out on the terrace, a shawl around her shoulders and her back turned to the drawing room full of people. Even though he couldn’t see her face he felt the breath being sucked out of his body. She looked stunning. She was wearing a dress made of red silk that pinched in at the waist and flowed out into a vast skirt that harked back to the fashions of thirty years ago. The neckline was designed to draw the eye, plunging down further than was the norm, and the sleeves worn off the shoulders.

  As if sensing him Cecilia turned and he saw the moment that she noticed him. One gloved hand came up to rest on her chest, just below the perfectly cut diamond that rested at the base of her throat.

  ‘Cecilia,’ he said, opening the doors to the terrace and slipping outside.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve been a fool.’

  He saw the hope flare in her eyes at his words and felt regret at the caution that followed. She was having to guard her heart because he’d pushed her away.

  ‘I wasn’t ready for you to come into my life,’ he said, moving towards her and taking her hand in his. It didn’t matter to him that they were in full view of the drawing room and the dozens of guests, he didn’t care who saw him bare his heart, if only Cecilia would forgive him. ‘I wasn’t ready to be pulled back into the real world.’