“So are you going to stand there and frown at me or go ask her about it?” Caroline pointed to the windows behind him. “She’s in the garden.”
He turned to look out his picture window. It was pretty much a black square, considering there was nothing but the dark evening sky behind it, though occasional fat white flakes swirled like dandelion seeds until the windows stopped their spiraling descent. He couldn’t see anything through the sporadic wet trails left on the glass. “But it’s snowing.” Their second snow that month. Unusual for December.
“Exactly.” Caroline crossed her arms over her chest. “What woman sits in a dead garden at night in the snow unless you did something to her or she’s beating herself up over something?”
“Gracie never beat herself up over anything.” He put his hand against the window to block the gas lamp’s reflection. He still couldn’t see her. “Everything was always my fault.”
“She’s not Gracie.”
He backed away from the frosty window. He couldn’t let his feelings over his late wife’s betrayal freeze the part of his heart he’d decided to let go of. “No, she’s certainly isn’t.”
“Go out and tell her.”
“That she’s not Gracie?” A woman’s train of thought made about as much sense as peanut butter on ham.
“No, that you love her.”
He licked his lips. Should he tell her that? It was certainly true, though he’d tried not to. But she’d just broken up with another man quite publicly. Would it be insensitive for him to declare himself on the same day? Or worse, what if she didn’t love him in return? “But how can I be sure she feels anything for me? More than for my money, that is.”
“You’re just scared because your emotions are involved this time. I’m telling you, Miss King’s heart is written on her sleeve. Your excuse is as worthless as dust.” She snatched up her dusting rag and shook it at him. “Unchain your heart and you’ll see what Miss King feels.”
He took a step back and licked his lips. He’d been trying to, but the locks on those chains were rusty.
“Stop whatever it is going on in that head of yours and use the feelings you keep so tightly bound in there. As for me, I’m exhausted.”
Caroline hobbled out into the hallway, and he glanced at the flurries. Was Lydia truly sitting outside?
He downed the last of his water, yet his mouth still felt dry.
After gathering his coat and gloves, he stepped into his conservatory and turned the switch for the gas lanterns along the garden walk.
Lydia startled on the bench beneath his foliage-bare trellis.
The humid hothouse air left in a rush upon his opening the all-glass door. He wrapped his muffler around his neck and stuffed the ends into his coat, then marched down the steps to the beautiful woman covered in a halo of powdery snow.
When she stood, he waved for her to sit and took a seat beside her on the bench.
She scooted away.
He forced himself not to slide closer. It wouldn’t do to smother her, but the knowledge that he could get closer, that he wasn’t invading another man’s territory, made it difficult to stay away. Especially since it would be warmer without the gap between them.
The hushed sound of fat snowflakes and stillness filled his ears.
He rolled his tongue between his lips, trying to unglue them. “I . . . I thought you’d left.”
“You told me not to.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Her coat wasn’t thick enough to be out in this weather, even with the slight windbreak behind them. “What did you need?”
He needed her.
But he couldn’t talk of love when she looked sad enough to attend a funeral. He slumped forward and stared at the dark, shadowy line of bushes surrounding the garden. Maybe he shouldn’t attempt to talk too much about his feelings tonight. Surely she’d been through enough upheaval today. Besides, if she loved him, as Caroline suggested, why would she be outside, hiding in the cold? “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry things with Sebastian didn’t turn out better for you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I was never thrilled with him anyway.”
So she wasn’t pining over the loss of her ideal future? He relaxed against the bench and extended his legs. “And how would you wish for your life to go?”
“For one, I wish I didn’t have to worry so much about money.”
He tensed. “Yes, money. Whether you have too little or too much, it’s always causing problems.”
“It’s not that I need it for myself, but I’m worried for Mama. The doctor hasn’t changed his opinion, says it’s only a matter of time.” She shrugged and burrowed farther into her coat. “I know the money wouldn’t cure her, but if Sebastian’s father figures out a way to boot us from our house—which I’m sure he will as soon as he has a free second—I need to provide for her. No matter how hard I try not to be, I’m afraid.”
“Is the librarian’s salary not enough? I may be a little removed from a working man’s salary, but I thought I figured well enough for a modest living.”
“Yes, it’s likely adequate.” She sighed.
“Then that’s not the real reason you’re frowning?”
“No, the librarian position is perfect for me, and yet I’m not satisfied.” She huffed as if she were mad at herself.
“You no longer want the job?” His heart paused for the briefest of moments. If the orphanage idea fell through, he’d barely see her if she quit.
“The job’s fine. It’s just that I’m the most selfish creature in the world.” She slumped. “And Papa’s right. All those books put crazy ideas in my head.”
He was lost. Was she talking to herself or him? “What is this about books?”
She kicked at the gravel at her feet, making a fresh spot for the snow to cover. “I’ve read too many fairy tales, I’m afraid. I wanted God to send me a knight—like Perseus freeing Andromeda, or Saint George and Princess Sabra. But I didn’t get one, and now I wish I didn’t have to go back to my peasant-like life.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her turning a serious conversation into a literary allusion. “Instead, Sebastian turned out to be the monster holding you captive.”
“Yes.” She turned her head toward the faint horizon. “Except I never really thought he was a knight. I figured I’d finally matured enough to realize God didn’t put me in a fairy tale and that I had to deal with real life . . .” She huffed and hung her head, but then she looked sideways at him for just a second.
A second long enough to see that precious heart on her sleeve, or rather in her eyes.
He scooted closer, and she scrunched tighter, as if she could create space by making herself smaller. “Fairy tales are entertaining, but what about after the story? When the knight marries the princess, do you think he actually makes a decent husband? Just because he wears expensive armor and rescues her doesn’t mean he’s a good man. He might slay as many innocent dragons as he does evil ones. The princess marries a man, not a saint. Well, unless he’s Saint George.” He grinned, but she didn’t smile back.
“That doesn’t make saving a damsel in distress any less honorable.” Lydia pulled on the scarf around her neck but didn’t look at him. “And if he stoops to marry his damsel, he’s the one most likely to be disappointed. A pretty face doesn’t guarantee she can do anything useful.”
Ah, so they were more alike than he thought. She didn’t believe she deserved him any more than he believed he did her. “So a poor maiden can’t ever be worthy of a knight, not even a flawed one?”
“What could a commoner possibly do to make a knight happy?”
He picked up a stray piece of her hair, smoothed the tendril behind her ear, and then let his finger wander down to the small section of her exposed neck. “You help him figure out which dragons need to be vanquished and which can be redeemed and trained.”
She finally looked at him for more than a moment, her eyes as dazzling as the sparkling flakes dancing in the moonlight.
“Are we still talking about mythology?” Her voice shook.
“No.” He smiled. “I never thought we were.”
A gust of wind swept away the white cloud of their breath. Her chattering teeth pulled at his heartstrings.
He captured her icy hand. “We should go inside and sit by the fire.”
“Please don’t change the subject.”
“All right.” He pulled his coat off and tucked it behind her.
“I can’t take your coat. You’ll have nothing to keep you warm,” she whispered, the wet snow upon her hair glittering like a crown.
With his hand cupping her face, he wiped a snowflake off her brow with his thumb. “And you can’t think of another way to warm me up, damsel?”
“Don’t tease me, Nicholas.” Her voice was a breathless whisper.
He couldn’t tell if she sniffed because of threatening tears or the cold, damp air.
He slid closer. “Oh, but I’m not teasing you.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Don’t come closer.” Then her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I’ll . . . I’ll get myself in trouble.”
He dipped his head until her warm breath tickled his chin. “Is this close enough for trouble?”
The low hum emitting from her throat made his pulse thrum, but she didn’t move.
He raised an eyebrow. “I have to get closer? I don’t remember damsels being so stubborn about leaping into a knight’s arms.”
She laid her dainty hand against his chest, and his heartbeat accelerated. She shook her head. “For once, I don’t want to live in a fanciful story.”
“Neither do I. I’d rather live with you. Every day of my life.”
Her gaze flashed up to his, her eyes glistening. “You do realize I’m not worthy of you?”
“What? Did you forget to tally up how many mistakes I’ve made? You’ve certainly not missed how harsh I am on others, myself, and you. Though I do have one knightly quality—I’ll pledge my fealty unto death.”
“And why am I worth that sacrifice?” Her voice caught.
“Because when you’re excited, I’m in awe of your passion. I may not feel the same, but your honest emotions capture me. They make me want to feel like you do. I might choose to attack problems with strategy and logic, but your empathy could keep me from destroying something precious.” He ached to take her hands, but she’d buried them in his coat. “And I’ve become a much better man because I’ve met you.”
“I’ll let you down.”
The snow stopped, and he looked up at the hulk of a house that tied him to a woman who had never stirred the feelings swirling inside of him right now. Though these new feelings made him feel more vulnerable than Gracie had ever made him feel, he no longer wanted to tamp them down. Hadn’t he said earlier today there was a fine line between being foolish and courageous?
He’d been foolish with Gracie. Courage was what he needed, even if that put his pride at risk. “You’ll only let me down if you tell me no.”
“No to what?”
“Loving me, wholeheartedly, devotedly, passionately. With every fiber of your being as only you can do.”
With a finger, he pulled her chin toward him, her eyes as open and vulnerable as she’d made his heart. He swiped his thumb along her lower lip. “I love you, Lydia. You can have both my heart and pocketbook if you want them.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.” What did it all matter now anyway? His desire to keep a tight rein on his money had only driven Gracie away, and he’d been hard-hearted enough to let her leave. But his heart was no longer stone, though it was still tense, waiting for a blow. “But I’m not certain how you feel.”
“The same,” she whispered. “Though you could throw your pocketbook in the fireplace, for all I care.” She huffed. “To think, I thought I needed such a thing. But if you say you’ll take care of my mother, even without a penny to your name, I believe you could.” She brought one hand out from beneath his coat and ran it slowly up his sleeve and onto his shoulder. “Aren’t you cold?”
Everywhere but where her hand lay. “Yes.”
“Maybe I should do something to remedy that.” Her voice wavered. “Like you said.”
He captured her hand and kissed her palm. “Please.”
Her fingers caressed his temple as she brushed back the hair at his forehead. The shimmer in her eyes had nothing to do with the light of the flickering gas lamps.
His gaze traveled to her lips, pale and glistening in the lamplight. “Show me how much you love me, my fair Lydia.”
“I’ll try every day you let me.” She closed the space between them, her lips brushing against his as soft and light as the snowflakes floating around them.
When her fingers wove into his hair, he moved his lips against hers in an effort to give her the tender fairy-tale first kiss she’d probably dreamed of.
However, there was no sleeping beauty needing to be awakened, but rather the shaky faith of a disillusioned knight.
She pulled back, but he drew her closer, kissing her once, twice—but when she broke away again, his lungs lost all air as her mouth traveled slowly along his jawline.
“I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered into his ear.
And with each brush of Lydia’s lips, each subtle caress, the enchanted briars entangling his heart slipped off one by one. The moment her mouth came back to his, he couldn’t contain himself any longer, and for the next minute or two, he let her know exactly what kind of man’s heart lay beneath the brambles and chains she’d broken through.
Never in a hundred years had he believed someone could rouse the love that his past had cursed into lying dormant.
But then, true love’s kiss was a wondrous thing.
Epilogue
A YEAR AND A HALF LATER
“Hold it there, boys!” Lydia held out her hand, but Albert smacked the ball out of Harold’s grip anyway. The ball knocked the vase of daylilies off the table. Water and glittering glass exploded against the tile floor.
The twin nine-year-old urchins froze.
Lydia closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, long breath. They hadn’t done that on purpose.
Not like the toad Harold had slipped into Robbie’s shirt earlier, or the pill bugs she’d found in the oatmeal yesterday, or the fishing line strung low and taut at the bottom of her bedroom door that Nicholas had tripped over this morning.
“We’re sorry, Mrs. Lowe.” Albert’s lower lip scrunched up.
“Yeah,” his brother said as he straightened and narrowed his eyes.
Albert’s penitent face was most likely sincere, but Harold . . . the challenge in his stance was all too evident. He knew she wouldn’t try to send him to his room again after the last time.
Although Harold was ten feet away, she cupped a hand over her protruding abdomen. Yesterday, he’d stumbled upon the secret of delaying punishment—he’d punched her square on her belly, sending muscle spasms across her torso and lower back.
Lydia blew out a breath but refused to sink into the armchair. She couldn’t appear powerless—if both boys turned on her, she’d have to move out of the mansion before Nicholas found someone to take over. How many more months would God make them wait? “Albert, find Miss O’Conner and tell her what happened. Harold, pick up the flowers and throw them outside. Be careful of the glass.”
Albert left directly, but Harold stood his ground.
She glared right back. “Mr. Lowe’s coming home for lunch. You don’t want me to tell him you disobeyed, especially since you’ve been told countless times not to play ball in the house.”
Harold sniffed and threw back his shoulders, but thankfully bent to pick up the flowers.
After he finished, she sank into the chair cushions and rubbed her tight stomach as she watched him march outside with the lilies. He passed his older sister making daisy chains in the yard with the newest orphan—a beautiful little girl who wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t let anyone touch her, and wouldn’t sleep anywhere but the floor.
As much as Lydia wished she and Nicholas could stay at the mansion to ease open the tightly clamped shell around the newest toddler’s heart, she had to worry about her own child now. And some of the children who came through the orphanage, like Harold, arrived out of control, lashing out at the other children. Raising her own child would be hard enough without the weighty baggage these cast-off children brought with them.
And if a newborn stealing her sleep would exhaust her even more than she already was, she wouldn’t have the energy to do the orphans much good anyway.
Lydia jumped as hands clamped onto her shoulders but quickly closed her eyes when the scent of Nicholas’s sandalwood soap registered. His thumbs rubbed in circles against the tightness in her neck at the base of her skull.
She hung her head and let out a sigh. “That feels wonderful.”
“Rough morning?”
“Harold.” That one word summed it up.
“He hasn’t threatened you again, has he?” His hands stilled on her neck. “Maybe I should find him another home until the new couple takes over.”
“No, he didn’t, but the look in his eye . . .” Wait. She turned faster than she should have and grimaced at the muscle she pulled in her side. “New couple? You mean someone’s finally volunteered?”
“Yes.” His lazy smile told her he wasn’t smiling about someone taking over, but rather that somehow he still found her beautiful despite her puffy ankles and the strange light splotches spreading across her forehead.
She put a hand to her face as if she could hide the darkening freckles from his view, though he said doing so only made him want to kiss them all the more. “I thought we were going to interview all the prospects together. How can we be sure they’ll love them—all of them—considering some are . . . a handful.”
“That’s why I came home early—they’ll be here any minute.” He leaned over and kissed her neck before coming around to the front of her chair. “You can tell me what you think when they get here.” He got down on his knees, wrapped his arms around her middle, and rested his head on her belly as he did whenever he came home from work these days. His fingers searched across her abdomen, so she positioned his hand over the little appendage that was the most active at the moment.
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