His stomach twisted into knots, nine to be exact. Here was the list of women Matthew had agreed to come to know over the next couple of weeks. The nine women with whom he’d sworn not to fall in love.
A strange feeling washed over him. Whether it was regret for accepting the challenge in the first place or disappointment that it had already begun, he wasn’t quite sure. Still, he accepted the note. “I must admit, I have been rather curious as to your choices.”
She took a few steps away. “Now you remember, son. Not a word to anyone or the deal is forfeit.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Without another word, she returned up the stairs, leaving Matthew alone in the front hall.
He brushed the note back and forth against his left palm, chewing the inside of his cheek. Was this truly how he wished to spend his Christmastide? To visit with women his mother wished for him to wed, rather than enjoying his brief time with his family and Meg, enjoying leisure activities, his time at home, eating what he wished, doing as he wished?
To win freedom from his mother and to win a horse from his father, yes, this was what he wished to do.
He swept his eyes about the room, ensuring he was alone before unfolding the note and eying his mother’s tall, swooping script. The list was numbered one through nine. Matthew saw but one name, the first at the very top of the list.
He stiffened. “Meg?”
“Yes?”
His eyes flew up. Meg paused with one foot in the front hall, her cloak draped over her arm, her gloves halfway removed. His mind was a whirl. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t a response. Her curious eyes flicked to the paper in his hands.
The paper. He needed to hide the paper. Swiftly, he folded it up and slipped it into his pocket.
“What was that?” she asked, motioning to where he’d hidden the note.
“Merely a list of tasks my mother wishes me to see to before I return to university.”
He cringed. Tasks. What a word to use. What would these women think, knowing they were his tasks. What would Meg think?
Meg. Why on earth was she on that list? Did Mother wish Matthew to marry his friend, even after he’d denied any feelings for her? Or had Mother simply added the name to allow him an easy beginning to the job before him?
That must be it. That was the only logical explanation.
“Did you need something, Matthew?”
He looked up with a blank expression.
“You did say my name, did you not?”
“Oh, yes.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “Yes, I was merely calling out for you as I forgot in which room we were meeting. I didn’t wish to carry this basket any longer than necessary.”
She didn’t believe him. It was obvious by the pointed look in her eyes. Still, she responded. “In the drawing room. I was just returning my things to my room, and then we shall start on the kissing boughs.”
“Right, yes,” Matthew said, so distracted he hardly had time to notice her pink cheeks as she scurried past him.
He stared after her, rubbing at his temple. He wanted to pull out the note to read the other names, but he couldn’t risk being caught again. He would simply have to wait until he dressed for dinner.
It was just as well. His thoughts were far too distracted with Meg being number one on his list.
Well, perhaps their time together gathering the greenery and creating kissing boughs would count toward Mother’s bargain then? That was easy enough. And as he had not fallen in love with his friend—an absurd notion, really—his agreement with Father still stood strong.
He unwound his scarf from around his neck. This arrangement was turning out to be far easier than he’d expected. If the other women on the list were as easy as Meg had been, the next two weeks would fly faster than his new prized horse would.
He picked up the basket and headed to the drawing room, smiling as he imagined the horse races he would have against Meg in the summertime, as they did every year.
Perhaps planning for the future wasn’t so very bad at all.
.
Chapter Three
Christmas morning dawned early for those at Hollridge House. The bright sun cast its shining rays across the frozen landscape around them, causing the frost on the ground to shimmer and Meg’s breath to glow as they loaded into the carriage for church that morning.
She glanced at Matthew, who sat across from her as they traveled toward Haxby. He stared out of the window. His hazel eyes glinted green in the sunshine before they focused on her.
He sent her a soft smile, a simple gesture, but Meg’s heart thumped hard against her chest. She returned the motion and forced her eyes elsewhere. She couldn’t spoil her plan now by becoming weak-kneed and glossy-eyed each time he looked at her. She was determined in her efforts this time.
The day before, as she and Louisa had hung up the kissing boughs, they’d giggled over whose affection they wished for that year. Meg had kept silent over whose lips she truly wanted to be on hers. She could never admit to those feelings aloud now, not when Matthew would kiss her the same as he did every year—on the cheek, just like he kissed his sister.
Sister. The word had all but flattened Meg’s hope, like the hawthorn berries she’d squished beneath her boots in the woods. After Matthew had spent all of Christmas Eve with her, however, decorating the house as they laughed and teased together, she knew she had some chance yet for his feelings to change.
After all, hers had. That knowledge, and the fact that Matthew clearly enjoyed his time with her, set her hope to blossom anew. She merely needed to show him how perfect they were for each other, then he would realize that he truly did love her. Or at least he would one day.
Perhaps she might then receive his affection under the kissing bough, affection that was not meant for a sister.
Soon, with Meg’s cheeks rosy, they arrived at the church and huddled together in the box pew. Though she longed to be closer to Matthew, she was almost relieved to have Louisa seated between them. Otherwise she might not have been able to enjoy Mr. Kempthorne, the vicar, and his keen ability to share the first Christmas story without pomp and flare—but still without putting to sleep half the congregation.
When the service finished, the families filed out of the door, complimenting the gentleman on his words. Mr. Kempthorne stood tall with an endearing smile and kind eyes. Meg and Louisa had often spoken of how handsome the unmarried vicar was, but they’d always agreed that they enjoyed gossip and other worldly endeavors far too greatly to marry a man of God.
“Thank you for your sermon today, Mr. Kempthorne,” Meg said with a curtsy as she followed the Pratts out of the church. “I always enjoy them.”
The vicar bowed low in gratitude. She took a step away before his words stopped her. “I trust your parents are well, Miss Baker.”
She glanced to the Pratts, who waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, they are in Scotland again, as usual. I believe they are enjoying themselves.”
She made to walk away again, but he continued. “I hope you are keeping warm in this cold weather.”
Meg eyed him. Did he not realize the line of well-wishers behind her grew impatient with his extended conversation? “Yes, sir. The Pratts have been sure to keep me very comfortable, as always.”
He opened his mouth again, but she curtsied. “Good day, sir,” she said, then walked away before he could say another word.
A woman worthy of a vicar would never try to escape one. It was fortunate that she was in love with another man entirely.
She reached the Pratts below then looked from side to side. “Where has Matthew gone?” Meg asked, her brow puckered.
Louisa motioned behind her, and Meg followed her line of sight across the churchyard to where carriages lined the outside of the stone wall. Matthew stood near one of the carriages, speaking with the Paulsons, a family with a single daughter who’d just returned from boarding school in Hereford. Meg didn’t know much about Miss Paulson,
what with the woman living away from home for so long, but Meg did know that she was rather reserved.
“Why is he speaking with them?” Meg asked under her breath as she and Louisa followed Mr. and Mrs. Pratt toward their own carriage.
Louisa shrugged. “Wishing them the compliments of the season?”
Meg found that difficult to believe, especially by the look of pleasure on Miss Paulson’s slender face, her cheeks glowing red. What had Matthew said to have instigated such a reaction? Or was it merely his dimpled smile causing her to blush?
“I did not know he was acquainted with Miss Paulson,” Meg whispered.
“Nor I.” Louisa’s apathetic tone did nothing to settle the knot twisting Meg’s stomach.
They entered the carriage and waited only a few moments before Matthew joined them. He settled down across from Meg, who tucked in her legs more securely.
“My apologies to have kept you all waiting,” Matthew said as the horses jerked forward. “I hope no one objects to my inviting the Paulsons to dinner this evening.”
Disappointment settled at the bottom of Meg’s heart as cold as a block of ice. Every year for Christmas dinner, only the Pratts and Meg had been present. Now, they would have to entertain another family with a single daughter who seemed rather taken with Matthew?
“I think it a fine idea,” Mrs. Pratt said. “I understand the Paulsons have decided not to travel to family this year over the holidays. I’m sure they appreciate the invitation.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Pratt agreed. “A generous offer, son.”
Meg looked away, holding her bottom lip between her teeth. She chided her uncharitable thoughts. The Pratts had always been a kind and welcoming family. They’d invited her into their home since the beginning. Of course, Matthew had never been one to extend his social sphere to many, but the spirit of the season must have prompted him to be more generous.
Meg ought to follow his example. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy their company,” she forced out.
Louisa’s eyes fixed on Meg, but Meg couldn’t have her friend discovering her unhappiness with the Paulsons, particularly Miss Paulson, joining them. That would lead to questions she was not yet ready to answer. She simply shifted her lips upward and stared out of the window, forcing a pleasant demeanor, though her insides boiled with torment.
As the day progressed, she tried to focus on the holiday and the time she did have with the Pratts alone. The decorations around the house improved her mood, but only slightly.
Hollridge certainly was alive with the aromatic scents and festive sights of the season. Speckled with hawthorn berries, the evergreen branches were draped across the mantels of the fireplaces, hung over doorways, and propped atop window ledges. Ivy curved around every banister in the house, and multiple kissing boughs could be spotted in nearly every room that would be occupied in the coming weeks.
Despite the festivities, Meg’s worries cultivated, her mind continually straying to Matthew’s reasoning for inviting the Paulsons. Was he truly wishing to know Miss Paulson further? Or was he more interested in Mr. Paulson’s talk of his horses? Either way, a single evening with the soft-spoken woman couldn’t diminish the years of friendship that had flourished between Meg and Matthew.
At the thought, her hope renewed, and by the time Meg dressed for dinner, she was determined again to follow through with her plan. She would capture Matthew’s attention that evening—and keep it away from Miss Paulson—if it was the last thing she did.
As such, Meg was eager to spend time with him alone before the other guests arrived, if only to solidify her place at the forefront of his mind. She rushed her lady’s maid to tend to her hair as swiftly as possible, then dressed in her white gown with green sheer fabric lining the outside.
When the servant finally finished, Meg popped a peppermint drop in her mouth—the one sweet she couldn’t abide living without during Christmastide—then bolted down the stairs and toward the drawing room, stopping momentarily to allow her breathing to level off before entering.
Matthew stood by the hearth alone, just as she’d suspected. He was always the first ready. He didn’t like his valet to fuss over his hair or clothing as other men did, but he couldn’t be more perfect to Meg if he dressed himself. He stood with his confident, yet casual stance, his face freshly shaved and cravat tied rather smartly beneath his chin. His red waistcoat finished off his striking appearance with a bright burst of color.
As she moved into the room, his eyes followed her. “I’m surprised to see you down here so swiftly.”
She finished off the last of her peppermint drop. “What can you mean?”
“You and my sister are always the last to arrive. Constantly primping, you are.”
She laced her gloved fingers together with a shrug, coming to stand before him. “Can you blame us for wishing to look our best?”
The right side of his lips lifted. “No, I don’t suppose I can. You look lovely, at any rate, as always. And I see you have made good use of my clippings from yesterday.” He motioned to her hair.
Meg raised a hand to softly press against the curls arranged in a pleasing manner at the crown of her head. Her lady’s maid had dotted her blonde ringlets with the remaining dark red hawthorn berries.
“Do you like them? I didn’t wish for any of the berries to go to waste, though I fear I resemble a tree.”
He sniffed a laugh. “No, I believe you are safe in that regard.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he looked toward the window.
Was he anticipating the arrival of their guests? Looking forward to it even? She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry, as if lined with the ash from the very fire they stood beside. “It was good of you to invite the Paulsons this evening.”
He maintained his stare out the darkened window. “I’m glad you think so. I was worried you and Louisa would be upset with my inviting them. I know we three typically enjoy dining together with my parents alone on Christmas.”
Meg couldn’t pull back the question before it rolled off the tip of her tongue. “May I ask then, why did you invite them?”
He rubbed the back of his head. Why wouldn’t he look at her? He was behaving as strangely as when she’d caught him with the note the day before in the front hall, the contents of which he’d been clearly lying about.
Before she could press him for an answer, Mr. and Mrs. Pratt joined them in the drawing room.
“Why, Meg, you’re down here early,” Mrs. Pratt said.
Matthew spoke from the side of his mouth. “You see? Even my parents know how long you take to make yourself presentable.”
Meg brushed aside her musings, her mood lifting with Matthew’s teasing.
Nearly a quarter of an hour later, Louisa made her appearance in the drawing room, followed soon by the Paulsons. Meg tried not to notice Miss Paulson’s bright blue eyes lingering on Matthew, nor the way he strode directly toward her with a welcoming smile, bringing her at once to Louisa and Meg.
“I was just telling Miss Paulson how delighted we are to have her at Hollridge tonight,” Matthew said, looking between his sister and Meg.
“Oh, yes. Indeed we are,” Louisa responded with all the politeness Meg could not muster. “We do hope you enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you,” Miss Paulson said, her eyes flashing toward Matthew. “You are all too kind. Though, I do hope we are not intruding on your private party.”
“Oh, not at all,” Louisa responded. “We are so happy to have you here.”
Meg wished very much to tell Louisa to speak for herself. Instead, she settled on something more appropriate. “You know as well as everyone in Haxby how kind the Pratts are, Miss Paulson. They are willing to share their home and kindness with anyone.”
“Oh, yes, how very true that is,” the woman agreed.
Meg stretched her lips into a sort of smile before she fell silent. She half-heartedly listened to the conversation until Mrs. Pratt announced that dinner was ready, and the
small party filed into the dining room.
Any respite Meg had hoped to receive from her worrisome thoughts vanished as Matthew and Miss Paulson sat down across from her.
Suddenly, the brawn, Yorkshire puddings, roast goose, and six other dishes all placed on fine china and decorated with greenery appeared less appealing than a basket of poisonous mistletoe berries.
Still, she ate, if only to avoid drawing attention to her miserable state. From what Meg remembered, Miss Paulson had been a painfully quiet child. Being at school must have changed her, for she now proved to be quite the pleasant conversationalist. In fact, she was so agreeable, that Meg might have enjoyed her company, perhaps even counted her as a pleasant friend.
But the fact that Matthew spoke with Miss Paulson more than anyone else inevitably placed the woman at the top of Meg’s “I would prefer to remain acquaintances” list—a list which, incidentally, she had created that very night.
As the meal progressed and the dessert course was finally served, Meg struggled to enjoy the layered trifle and apple dumplings she once so loved. Every look shared between Matthew and Miss Paulson, every smile he sent in the woman’s direction, drove Meg closer and closer to madness. She listened in silence as the two spoke about their experience at their respective schools, and how difficult it was being away from home, until the women finally withdrew to the drawing room.
As Mrs. Pratt conversed with Miss Paulson and Mrs. Paulson about the upcoming Twelfth Night revels, Louisa’s eyes constantly drifted toward Meg, but Meg hardly noticed. She was too busy concocting a number of excuses for Matthew’s behavior, ranging from an instantaneous fever, to his simply playing the part of a good host, even to him being forced to speak with the woman.
But her musings were in vain. She knew the very reason he was speaking with Miss Paulson. It was the reason she feared most of all, a reason she refused to acknowledge until now. A reason that became more apparent when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies.
Nine Ladies Dancing Page 4