Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘I still have emotions, Mr Whitlock. Just because I threw myself into work when my father died doesn’t mean I didn’t love or mourn him. A person can be practical and still feel.’

  ‘Forgive me—’ he reached forward suddenly and caught one of her hands ‘—I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It takes strength and courage not to let your emotions get the better of you, to carry on with life even when you’re in pain. Sometimes I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to move past what happened, that I’ll never find peace or joy again.’ His gaze burned into hers. ‘You have fortitude, Just Millie. I admire and envy you for that. On top of which, you’re an excellent listener. Your sister is very lucky to have you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at their joined hands. Hers looked so small and weak inside his, yet he said he envied her strength. ‘And things will get better for you, I’m sure of it. Even the memories will fade eventually. You’ll find peace and joy again.’

  ‘Will I? Why do I deserve those things when he’s gone?’

  ‘Because everyone deserves those things. And you will because wounds scar over.’ She strove to sound reassuring. ‘You were wounded that day you lost your friend, just like I was when I lost my father. They might not have been injuries anyone could see, but they were still real. Some wounds might be mortal, but the rest heal and scar over in time. You might not be the same person you were before, but you’ll be able to move on some day.’

  ‘Move on...’ he repeated the words, his fingers tightening imperceptibly over hers. ‘I’m almost afraid you’re a part of some dream, too, Just Millie, only a good one this time. Are you sure you’re real and not a figment of my imagination?’

  ‘I think so.’ She nodded, though she had to admit she was feeling somewhat light-headed. Probably because her pulse was accelerating to a positively alarming rate. She tried drawing in a breath to slow it down, but the room seemed unusually lacking in air. It made her feel as if she were panting instead.

  Desperately, she shifted her gaze away from their hands and then instantly regretted it. His shoulders were broad and muscular and the neck of his shirt was open, revealing the strong column of his throat as well as the top of his chest and a dusting of pale golden hair beneath. Her gaze continued downwards, as if drawn of its own volition, certainly against her own better judgement. He must have woken up in a sweat because his shirt was stuck to his skin in places, making the stomach muscles beneath as visible as if he were naked.

  She ran her tongue nervously over lips that felt bone dry all of a sudden. Their close proximity was utterly inappropriate, even more so than her being there was already, but his hand was still holding hers, his fingers warm and strong, and she felt an almost irresistible impulse to stroke the inside of his palm with her thumb.

  ‘I’m very real—’ she cleared her throat instead ‘—but I don’t deserve your admiration. Sometimes I feel trapped, too, not in the past, but in the present. I don’t compare my situation to yours, of course, but there are days when I want to scream at the very top of my lungs. If I hadn’t found your house this evening, I might actually have done it, just to see how it feels.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  She looked up in alarm. ‘I’m not going to scream, Mr Whitlock.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the perfect opportunity. There aren’t any other houses within hearing distance, just a lot of trees. You might frighten a few badgers and squirrels, but we can live with that.’

  ‘I still can’t scream.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t do things like that. It’s not who I am. Once maybe, but not any more.’

  ‘Then who are you, Just Millie?’

  ‘Who am I?’ The very question made her feel reckless. ‘I’m Miss Amelia Fairclough, teacher of sewing and housekeeping at the Fairclough Foundation. I’m practical, virtuous and self-sacrificing.’ She drew her fingers away from his to tick the qualities off one by one. ‘Which I know because everyone tells me so.’

  His lips twitched as he lifted an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Aren’t they supposed to be positive qualities?’

  ‘They are, but put all together like that they just sound so utterly boring.’

  ‘Surely people don’t tell you that?’

  ‘Not to my face, but it’s implied. Self-sacrificing, as if I don’t have a self!’ She dug her nails into her palms in frustration. ‘It’s not that I’m unhappy, at least not exactly. My work is very rewarding and it pleases me to know that I’m doing something useful and helping others, but I want to be more than just practical and virtuous! I used to be, only those things have become habits and now everyone expects them of me. I feel so...’

  ‘Trapped?’

  ‘Exactly! And boring. I feel as if I’ve become someone I didn’t want to be, someone I’m not even sure that I like. My sister and brother are both far more interesting than I am.’

  ‘Are you the eldest?’

  ‘Only by half an hour. Silas is my twin.’ She drew in a deep breath and then sighed it out again. ‘It sounds ridiculous, but I was trying to be different and rebellious tonight and look what happened! I got lost in a snowstorm and ruined your evening.’

  ‘You haven’t ruined anything. I’m glad to have met you, Just Millie.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Extremely.’ He sounded surprisingly genuine. ‘You’ve made me feel better.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She peered up at him. ‘Although in that case I probably shouldn’t tell you the most boring thing of all.’

  ‘But now I’m curious.’ There was a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘All right...’ She sighed again. ‘It’s that at this precise moment, what I’d like more than anything else in the world is a cup of tea.’ She screwed her mouth up apologetically. ‘That’s not something an exciting woman would say, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It sounds like a quite genius idea to me.’ He pushed himself out of his chair, started towards the door and then stopped, turning around to bob down beside her. ‘For what it’s worth I don’t think you’re boring at all. In fact, I think you might be the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.’ His gaze dropped. ‘And my dressing gown suits you, by the way.’

  ‘Oh!’ She pressed a hand to the throat of the peacock-green-and-blue garment self-consciously. It swamped her slender shoulders and trailed several inches along the floor, looking more like a ceremonial robe than a housecoat, but it was soft and surprisingly comfortable, so much so that she’d forgotten she was wearing it. She even liked its musky smell. ‘I was rushing to get downstairs, but I didn’t want to do it in my unmentionables and this was the first thing that came to hand.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly a relief. We wouldn’t want any unmentionables on display.’ His gaze drifted to her mouth and then back to her eyes, his own glowing with some indefinable emotion. Only it brought the word smouldering to mind. ‘Now wait here and I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen.’

  Millie waited until the parlour door had closed before swallowing hard. His face had been so close to hers that for the space of a few unsteady heartbeats she’d thought that he was going to embrace her. To kiss her. The idea ought to have been shocking, but it wasn’t. On the contrary, it had been quite decidedly tempting.

  She pressed her hands to her furiously blushing cheeks, feeling as if his gaze itself had scorched her. Ironically after her evening’s adventure in the snow, now the whole room felt too hot. She stood up and moved away from the fire, trying to distract herself from the fact that she’d just poured her heart and soul out to a man she’d only just met. It was outrageous! Though on the other hand, it had felt good to talk to someone about her feelings for once, and it wasn’t as if she’d done anything very wrong. She’d only told the truth and it was an unusual night, after all, a break from her real life of virtue and self-sacrifice, a snow-covered secret that no
one else ever needed to know about.

  And he’d called her intriguing. That was the best secret of all.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Tea is served,’ Cassius announced, lifting the pot and pouring out two cups of steaming amber liquid.

  ‘Thank you.’ Miss Amelia Fairclough, as she was apparently called, clasped her hands around the rim with a pleased-sounding sigh.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Two lumps, please.’

  ‘Two lumps.’ He dropped them into her cup and stirred. ‘I’m rather good at playing mistress of the house, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very proficient.’ Her lips—perfect, bow-shaped, rosy-red lips—spread into a smile. ‘All you need now is an apron.’

  He chuckled and sat down on the hearth rug beside her, leaning against the armchair for comfort. It was strange how relaxed he felt in her company now. Positively serene, in fact. Since returning to England, he’d barely spoken about his time in Afghanistan and India to anyone, no more than was necessary anyway. He preferred that nobody knew how much the experience had affected him. Part of the reason he chose to sleep in the gatehouse was so that his staff, never mind Sylvia and her daughters, wouldn’t overhear his nightmares. He didn’t want anyone else to know that he had them at all, only Miss Fairclough had somehow guessed the truth. As to why he’d chosen to tell her the details, he had no idea. It wasn’t simply because she’d been there in a moment of weakness. It was her. She’d made him want to talk, to be listened to as well by someone who’d seemed like she might understand. She’d truly made him feel better. So much so that he wanted to help her, too.

  ‘Now I have a question for you, Just Millie, if you’ll permit me?’

  ‘I will.’ She lifted her cup and blew across the surface of the tea to cool it. ‘But I’ve told you my full name. You’re permitted to use it.’

  ‘But I prefer Just Millie. It suits you and Miss Amelia sounds far too formal. In my mind you’ll always be Just Millie, umbrellaed avenger!’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ She laughed. It sounded soft and soothing, like water trickling over stones in a brook. ‘Very well, then, what’s your question?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  She gave him a baffled look. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You said that you’ve become someone you didn’t want to be so...’ he opened his hands, palms upwards ‘...what do you want? If you could do anything with your life, what would it be?’

  ‘Anything at all?’

  ‘Anything. Be Queen of England if you want.’

  ‘I believe the position is taken, but if I could do anything...’ She tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to be decadent, just for one day. I’d lie on a chaise longue, eat macaroons, read novels and have a cat.’

  ‘A cat?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Did I mention that you could do anything?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t have any regal ambitions and I’ve always wanted a pet cat. My brother sneezes around them so it was never possible growing up.’

  ‘So you’re saying that you want a cat more than you want to be Queen?’

  She nodded her head firmly. ‘I’d call it Electra or Orestes, depending on whether it was male or female.’

  ‘I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.’

  ‘I have.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I tried keeping a stray once. She was mewling so pitifully at the back door so I made her a little bed in the coal shed, but I must have carried her hair inside on my clothes. Silas still sneezed.’ She sighed plaintively. ‘Fortunately, I found her a home with an old lady on our street. They were both very happy.’

  ‘And why the Greek names?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve always liked Greek mythology. When I was little I had a book filled with stories and legends. I read it so much that eventually the cover fell off.’

  ‘You don’t think that Electra and Orestes have somewhat bloodthirsty connotations?’

  ‘They’re still nice names.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ His lips twitched in bemusement. The conversation was so odd he half-wondered if he was dreaming again. ‘Well then, can’t you have a cat now? Or does your brother still live at home?’

  ‘No.’ Her expression turned anxious. ‘He went to America to seek his fortune just over a year ago. He sent several letters at first, but now we haven’t had any word in seven months. We’re all worried.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘I’m sure there are all kinds of good reasons why we haven’t received any letters, but if I were to get a cat, it would be like admitting he wasn’t coming back at all.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But maybe I’ll get one if—’ She stopped mid-sentence, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink colour.

  ‘If...?’

  ‘If I marry.’ She lifted her teacup and held it at chin level. ‘A friend of the family, our local Curate, asked me to marry him last week.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He felt a jolt in his chest, a reflexive stab of something like disappointment. ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

  ‘Because he’s a friend. I know we could get along perfectly well together. He’s a good man and I respect him, but I don’t know if I could ever care for him in the right way. As a husband, I mean.’

  ‘Have you told him that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, and he said he’s had similar thoughts about me as a wife, but overall he considers friendship more important than love.’ She took a sip of tea and then looked up abruptly. ‘Isn’t that odd? If you were married, wouldn’t you want your partner to be more than just a friend?’

  Yes. Unquestionably. Undoubtedly. Unequivocally.

  The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them with a mouthful of too-hot tea. ‘I suppose so. Some people might even say it was integral.’

  ‘He’s never even tried to kiss me.’ She murmured the words as if to herself and then blushed violently again. ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Why not? Kissing is another important aspect of marriage.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Her eyelashes fluttered. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. Only he doesn’t seem to want to and every time I even try to imagine kissing him, my mind just shies away from the idea. Last week I polished all the brass in the house just to avoid thinking about it! I know I oughtn’t to say it, especially to another man, but it just doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Then I believe you might have your answer to his proposal.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that!’ She sounded indignant. ‘I wish it were.’

  ‘But surely if you don’t feel the right way...?’

  ‘How I feel has nothing to do with it. My mother and sister and I are almost down to the last of our savings. Without my brother’s money coming from America, we can’t afford our rent, let alone food, at least not without taking money from the Foundation and Mother would hate to do that. If I don’t marry, then we could be destitute.’

  ‘You can’t marry just for a place to live.’

  ‘Says the man who’s allowed to make his own living.’ She gave him a scornful look. ‘Having a place to live is the reason why a lot of women marry. We have to be practical.’

  ‘Can’t you strive for happiness, too?’

  ‘Keeping a roof over my family’s heads will make me happy.’

  ‘Even if it makes you want to go out into the woods and scream?’

  She knitted her brows together, taking another sip of tea before answering. ‘Even if it does that, yes.’

  ‘What about love? Your suitor might not think it important, but what do you think?’

  If he wasn’t mistaken, her breath caught at the word love. ‘That would be another sacrifice, but I believe marriages without love are quite common.’

  ‘Pardon my saying so, but you sound very cynical about it.’

 
‘I suppose I am. Only I’ve met all kinds of women at the Foundation and I’ve listened to their stories. I know the real world isn’t romantic.’

  ‘On the whole I’d agree with you, but you seem a little too young to give up.’

  ‘I’m twenty-five.’ Her eyes shot to his and then softened. ‘Forgive me, you might be right. I know that true love exists because I saw it with my parents, but I can’t let my mother and sister be thrown out of our home just because I want the same thing. It would be selfish of me. Besides, what if I never meet a man I can fall in love with?’

  ‘What if you do?’

  ‘And what if we all starve or freeze to death in the meantime?’

  ‘I still say that marrying this suitor of yours is a sacrifice too far.’ He felt suddenly determined to convince her. If she was so desperate for money, then he would be more than happy to help, though he could hardly make the offer at that moment without it sounding somewhat indecent. Perhaps what she needed was a different kind of convincing.

  ‘All right, Just Millie, tell me this.’ He leaned closer towards her. ‘Do you think you could ever love this man?’

  ‘As a friend or a brother, yes. As a wife, no.’

  ‘Because you can’t imagine kissing him?’

  ‘In part.’

  ‘Have you ever been kissed?’

  ‘Mr Whitlock!’ Her body jerked so abruptly that tea sloshed on to his dressing gown.

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’ He reached for her cup, putting it aside as she started to wipe herself down. ‘I shouldn’t have put the question so bluntly, but have you considered that it might just be the thought of kissing itself that puts you off? If you’ve never tried it, perhaps you’re simply nervous?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She pulled her shoulders back stiffly and folded her hands in her lap, seeming to make a concerted effort to regain her composure, though her expression was still flustered. ‘Yes, I suppose it could be that.’

  ‘In which case, maybe I can help.’

  Green eyes widened like saucers. ‘What do you mean?’