Yes, she truly ought to be terrified. Or at the very least nervous. But all she could feel was complete and abject horror and humiliation that a stranger had caught her...
Well, there was no other term for it. Her tantrum. It had been a temper tantrum worthy of a child, and she had been caught raving like a madwoman.
She closed her eyes. This had to be a nightmare. He must be a figment of her imagination. But then his boots crunched against the snow and there was no denying the reality of her predicament.
Oh Lord, please strike me down right here and now so I do not have to face this gentleman.
“Are you alone out here?” His brows drew together and now he was not just handsome. He was intimidatingly so, with his thick dark brows and his stern features, the hint of gray in his side whiskers and the lines near his eyes that crinkled with concern as he drew close. “Has there been an accident?”
She was too busy taking him in to reply at once, her gaze roaming over the dark overcoat that covered most of his clothing and the horse he was riding, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
“Where did you come from?” she breathed.
His eyes widened slightly, just enough to remind her how rude her question was. But truly, he seemed to have come from nowhere. He nodded behind him. “There is a vicarage just there, beyond the trees.”
Vicarage.
Of course.
He was the vicar that Prudence had such high hopes for. Poor Miss Grayson’s one last chance at marriage. And he’d been the one to find her screaming at the heavens. Oh, it was just too perfect. The final nail in her spinster coffin. Hysteria had her choking on a laugh. “You’re the widower.”
She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, it had merely...slipped out along with a laugh of disbelief that had her clapping a hand over her mouth as if that could undo the damage she’d already done.
His brows hitched higher and the curve of his lips was rueful. “Is it so obvious?”
Obvious that he was a widower? Not necessarily, although the creases near his eyes, the gray at his temples—it all spoke of a man who had experiences to share, both good and bad. Her mind called up Prudence’s words about the vicar. And he was handsome, as Prudence claimed the vicar to be. Even with that heavy brow and a brooding gaze, he was undeniably handsome.
So yes, it was clear that this man was the handsome vicar she’d heard mention of. How wonderful.
That bitter voice was back in full force.
Of course the one man to come along during her moment of insanity was the widower Prudence hoped to match her with.
“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” he continued, casting a glance around and taking in the broken wheel and the abandoned driver’s seat. “Your driver will be returning soon, no doubt, but—”
“No!” It was horribly rude to interrupt, but why start behaving properly now? Again with that hysterical lightness, this urge to laugh and weep at once for her own idiocy. Never in her life had she been so humiliated, and now she would be forced to see this kind, absurdly handsome vicar for the entire duration of her stay at the manor.
“Or rather, yes,” she said, more urgently this time. “He will be back and bringing help, so I assure you I do not require assistance.”
His lips twitched with mirth and his eyes danced with laughter, which seemed at odds with the grim visage he presented. “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”
With her ranting. With her raving. She clamped her lips shut as she prayed for the earth to open and swallow her whole. “Yes, well. That was not directed at you, but the sentiment remains.”
“You do not require assistance,” he said. “Understood.” He looked around at the admittedly bleak surroundings and looming clouds. “But perhaps you would give me the honor of accompanying you just until your driver arrives.” He raised his hands. “I assure you that while we have not been officially introduced, I am aware of who you are and I have heard much about you.”
“Have you?” It wasn’t so much a question as just...something to say. Of course he had. She had no doubt Prudence had filled the vicar’s head with talk of the pretty not-too-terribly-old headmistress who would be coming to visit.
She just barely held back a sigh. Heaven save her from her matchmaking friends.
“Indeed,” he said. “As I am nearly certain you are aware of my name.”
His hint of amusement, that low voice...
Oh, he was indeed charming. Dreadfully so. Handsome and gallant and that perfect combination of serious and amused. He would be the type of gentleman one could rely on, but one who could laugh at himself as well. With one look she could see just what sort of man he would be.
A good one. A solid one. A steady companion and maybe even a friend to some worthy young lady.
She couldn’t hold back her sigh any longer. Her luck seemed to have gone from bad to abysmal in a heartbeat. Her one last chance at finding a partner and she’d ruined it with a temper tantrum—the very first in her entire life.
It was a struggle to calm herself, to return to the placid calm she’d exuded every day of her life...up until a few minutes ago.
“If you please, sir, perhaps we should wait to be properly introduced before we become any further acquainted.”
Two things happened at once. He smiled—a real, genuine, beautiful smile—and the clouds opened up in a torrent of rain, sleet, and hail.
* * *
This vicar knew how to take charge of a situation, that much was certain. If this were anyone but a vicar and an acquaintance of Prudence, she might have been concerned with the way in which he manhandled her.
Not that he was rough. Not at all. He was just...thorough.
Crossing the distance between them in three long strides, he shrugged out of his great overcoat and threw it over her shoulders, tugging it together tightly at her chin before leaning down and...
Oh sweet heavens. “What are you doing?”
It came out far more breathless than she liked but, honestly... It was not every day that a man swept her off her feet and picked her up into his arms.
He held her tightly to his chest as though he might keep her warm and safe through sheer will alone. “I cannot let you stay out here in this storm,” he shouted to her over the wind and rain. Hail pierced her skin and made her wince. It also wiped away any protest. Huddling farther into him, she tried not to notice how wonderful he felt.
How warm and strong his embrace, how delicious he smelled—like leather and soap and something so ruggedly masculine it made her dizzy. And then he was lifting her, balancing her atop his steed and seconds later seating himself behind her.
His touch was intimate but not inappropriate...given the circumstances.
The circumstances being that you are a spinster, that bitter voice pointed out.
And as if her spinster state was not detrimental enough, she was now the raving lunatic woman he’d stumbled upon in a storm. She groaned softly, her head still buried in his chest.
Her great aunt and every guardian since had made such a fuss over being proper and pure and demure. But not one of them thought to warn her that if she was not, if ever once she broke down and lost all sense of propriety...she would surely be caught.
She sniffled, uncertain whether she was crying or if sleet had found its way to her cheeks.
It was official. She was a mess. And if there was any doubt about the matter, it was confirmed minutes later when he brought the steed to a stop in front of a large manor whose details she could hardly make out thanks to the storm.
Servants bustled about, helping her down, covering her as best they could as they hurried her inside with tsks of concern and murmurs about how disheveled she’d become.
Her. Disheveled.
Oh, Amelia would laugh herself into tears if she knew.
She didn’t have a chance to turn back and say thank you or steal one last look at her handsome savior’s face before she was inside and face to face with a mirror.
“Oh goo
d heavens, I am a disaster.” She said it to herself but a servant beside her assured her that she’d be right as rain after a nice, warm bath.
Physically, perhaps. But it was not so much the dripping, sagging hair nor even the puffy eyes and red nose that had alarmed her so.
It was the look in her eyes. The crazed look that was still there. It was the glimpse of desperation and anger—all the feelings she’d done so well to hide until today.
Until that man came along.
She closed her eyes briefly as she let them steer her up the stairs to the second floor where her room waited. She barely had a chance to take in the splendor of her surroundings before the bath was drawn and ready for her.
The servant was right. A bath did help tremendously. And by the time Prudence joined her, fussing over her after her great adventure, as Prudence called it, Madeline was nearly starting to feel like herself again. Enough so that she noticed her younger friend’s barely contained excitement as she helped Madeline finish getting ready to join the others.
“It is wonderful to see you so happy, Prudence, dear,” she said with a genuine grin. Despite her earlier tantrum, she meant it with her whole heart and soul.
Prudence paused while rearranging Madeline’s hair pins and the joy written all over her face made Madeline’s own heart ache with happiness...and longing.
“Now I just want you to find the same happiness that I have,” Prudence said gently. “The same happiness Delilah has found and...” Her voice trailed off.
All of them. Each and every one of her students had found love, and none could have been more deserving of it.
But Madeline didn’t need love, just a chance for a family of her own.
There was that hope again. Silly, useless, seeming indefatigable hope.
She set the hairbrush down a little too hard.
“I have a feeling you may find happiness quite soon once you beguile our handsome vicar.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “He will be madly in love the moment he lays eyes on you.”
Madeline tried not to wince. She failed.
“Whatever is the matter?” Prudence asked.
Madeline cleared her throat. “Nothing is the matter,” she lied. “It is only that I believe I have met this vicar you are so eager to acquaint me with.” And he most certainly believes me to be a lunatic.
“You have?” Prudence’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “But how? Where?”
In all the excitement, Madeline’s version of the story of how she’d gotten from the carriage to the manor had been...vague, at best. She might have left out a detail or two, like...who exactly had saved her.
“Earlier,” Madeline said, waving in the general direction of the carriage and her disastrous downfall. “I met a widowed vicar.” That was one way of putting it. “He was the one who—”
“But it could not have been him,” Prudence cut in with a frown. “Mr. Charleston was called away two days ago to care for an ailing relative.” She bit her lip, her expression filled with disappointment. “I was so disappointed to see him go. I do believe you would have found much in common. You both have such good manners. And you’re both so, so...charming.”
Madeline grimaced at the memory of stomping in the snow as she shouted at the top of her lungs. Charming, indeed.
She shook off the thought as she fully realized what Prudence was telling her. “But...” Her brows drew down in confusion. “Pru, if that was not the vicar attending this party, then who was it?”
Prudence shook her head in obvious confusion. “I have not the faintest idea. Mr. Charleston is the only vicar nearby, and the only widower on the grounds is our own Uncle Edward, the Marquess of Ainsley.”
Madeline frowned at her reflection, a sick sense of foreboding churning in her belly.
“There is no way you would have confused our dashing uncle with the vicar,” Prudence continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “He might be an older gentleman, but he is still quite attractive.” She leaned down with a teasing smile. “Not quite as handsome as my Damian, of course, but even so...” She pulled back and started perfecting Madeline’s hair. There was a lady’s maid who’d been assigned to see to her but both women had preferred to have an intimate chat.
And right at this particular moment, Madeline was happier than ever that there was no one else there to see her expression as she replayed that odd first interaction.
He had said he was a vicar...had he not?
“But...” Madeline had to clear her throat as a wave of fear threatened to swallow her whole. “Prudence, you said in your letter that the vicar was quite handsome—”
“Oh indeed,” Prudence said quickly. “He is handsome as well, just...” Prudence’s lips pursed as she sought the right words. “Well, I would not go so far as to say dashing, if you know what I mean. He is quite refined, albeit short of stature...”
Prudence kept talking, but Madeline was only half paying attention, for each new word used to describe the vicar made it abundantly clear that the man who had saved her was not he.
Her lips grew dry and she pressed them together as she took a steadying breath.
“And the marquess,” Madeline said when Prudence had ceased talking about the fair-haired Mr. Charleston with his slim build and his diminutive stature. “You said he is nearly as dashing as your Damian?”
“Oh, yes.” Prudence grinned at her in the mirror. “He has Damian’s dark features, the hair and the eyes. His demeanor is more serious, as a whole, but he can be quite charming when he wishes to be.”
“I see,” Madeline murmured. Her lungs were barely working now as she tried to breathe in and out. In and out. Panic was threatening to strangle her as she digested Prudence’s words.
“He would make some fine lady a wonderful husband, I am certain of it,” Prudence was saying. “But that would require Uncle Edward to marry again.”
“He is a widower.” Madeline said it more to herself than to Prudence, as this was a fact they’d already established. But her mind had called up a moment from her disastrous meltdown, when she’d said as much to her savior. You are the widower.
Is it so obvious?
Her groan went unnoticed as Prudence continued talking. “But Damian still has hope. I told you that Miss Farthington will be joining us, did I not? She and her mother. Her father is a viscount, you know—Lord Bradford.”
“Oh?” Her voice was little more than a breath now as it all became clear. So vividly, horribly clear.
“Mmm.” Prudence fussed with her hair some more, ever the perfectionist. “She is not the most obvious choice, what with her recent scandal.”
“Scandal?” Madeline echoed.
This was enough to set Prudence talking about poor Miss Farthington and her broken engagement which had caused such a stir. She was not quite ruined, but her reputation was tainted by the scandal of it all.
“Poor Miss Farthington,” Madeline managed when there was a pause.
“Indeed. But, Damian still has high hopes that perhaps she will be the one to catch Uncle Edward’s eye. He might be a marquess but he would be the first to overlook the poor girl’s bad fortune.”
“He sounds like...quite an admirable gentleman,” she said quietly. All the while her mind was calling up image after image of the kind, formidable man who’d come to her aid.
“Oh, he certainly is,” Prudence said. “He could have had his pick of ladies after his wife died but he chose to remain unwed, for reasons he’s never properly explained. At least not to Damian.” Prudence paused to flash her a mischievous grin. “It drives Damian mad because he does not wish to be the heir, you see. Poor Uncle Edward is forever trying to escape my husband’s attempts to get him wed. Damian is a frightfully relentless matchmaker.” She laughed and gave a shake of her head. “But we both have high hopes that Miss Farthington will be the one to win his heart.”
Win his heart. That very real memory of the gentleman’s furrowed brow as he considered her now turned to a fantas
tical one. A vision of that same furrowed brow easing as he smiled. Those dark, laughing eyes filled with tenderness as he tugged her close. As he leaned in even closer, as he—
“Miss Grayson, are you all right?” Prudence asked. “You seem rather flushed.”
“Do I?” Madeline’s murmur came out a bit stifled but as casual as she could manage. Which likely wasn’t all that casual at all considering her chest was doing something odd.
Something painful.
“I’m fine,” she added with a smile. Or rather, she would be fine when this madness passed. And it would. It would have to. “So, you believe this Miss Farthington to be the one, then? The one who will capture the dashing marquess’s heart?”
She aimed for a teasing tone, though she wasn’t quite certain who she was hoping to fool with her carefree demeanor.
She certainly wasn’t fooling herself.
“Mmm, she is quite lovely,” Prudence continued. “And as Uncle Edward is such a kind soul, he would never hold that broken engagement against her. In fact, it would likely work to her advantage.”
“How so?” Madeline asked.
“He wouldn’t be able to resist,” Prudence said with the utmost smugness. “He couldn’t pass up the chance to be some damsel in distress’s very own savior.”
A flash of warm brown eyes, the scent of that overcoat, and the feel of his arms.
She blinked rapidly against the onslaught of memories. If there had been any doubt remaining, it vanished under a wave of resigned horror. And yet she asked... “A white knight, is he?”
“Oh yes.” She shook her head with a rueful smile. “Though he doesn’t dress the part, most of the time. Do you know, I saw him leaving here earlier and told him he looked like a harbinger of doom with his giant black overcoat.”
Madeline attempted to smile in return as Prudence laughed.
So the gentleman who’d saved her had been a marquess. And her friend’s uncle.
All of those were enough to make her stomach twist in horror, but what was more alarming. Indeed, what had her heart twisting just as surely as her stomach was another fact altogether.
The Mistletoe Mistake of Miss Grayson: School of Charm: Christmas Novella Page 2