“I already apologized for that,” he said, moving back down the landing.
“I know. It was also for this morning. How could you forget our plans?”
He stopped, guilt pinching his chest. He’d agreed to go to the bakery in Haxby with Meg and Louisa that morning. How could he have forgotten? Blast this bargain.
He placed a hand to his temple. “My apologies, Meg. I don’t know how I managed to forget. We can go this very moment if you wish to.”
“And risk having to hear you lament about the cold for longer? I think not.”
Her lips twitched. Was she fighting off a smile?
He took another step toward her. “I will make it up to you both. Why do we not walk there tomorrow? And for the next three days, I’ll do whatever Louisa and you wish to do.”
He’d have to say farewell to his freedom if she agreed, but the prospect wasn’t all bad. At least whatever Meg decided for them to do was sure to be more fun than speaking of deceased ancestors in a frozen graveyard.
Meg nodded her head in an instant. “Very well, you have yourself a deal, Matthew.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. He’d never made so many deals in his life than he’d had that Christmastide. Fortunately, he knew this one he could accomplish with as much ease as he was accomplishing Father’s.
Besides, hadn’t Mother’s bargain said to spend time with those on the list between Christmas and Twelfth night? He’d decorated with Meg on Christmas Eve, but it was only fair for him to spend more time with her now, during the allotted days.
Just as soon as they were both inside.
He donned his hat. “I look forward to our time together. But as of right now, I am going indoors before I freeze. You ought to do the same.”
He waited for a moment, but when she appeared to have no notion of moving, he shrugged and turned to the door again. He reached for the handle but gasped when his hat was knocked from his head.
He darted around at the sound of Meg’s laughter. “You are asking for trouble,” he warned, eying his hat on the landing, covered in snow.
She grinned in response, reaching down for another handful of snow.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, holding up his arm too late, the snow hitting his shoulder. Her laughter rang out once more. “Very well, Miss Baker. You have awakened the feral badger within me.”
She took a step back, turning her body sideways as if preparing to dart away. “Don’t you mean a feral mole?”
“You are finished,” he said, bolting towards her. Her laughter trailed out behind her as she ran across the snow. “I told you not to criticize my costume.”
He slowed his pace for a moment, reaching down to gather a quick handful of snow. He threw it softly as he straightened, but it sailed past her without a touch.
Her chortling sounded all the louder. He attempted to throw another, but she dodged to the right. His coat fell down from around her shoulders, landing with a soft thud in the snow.
“You always were a terrible aim!” Meg shouted over her shoulder.
It was true. She’d always been better at that than him. Although, when she boasted in her abilities, he didn’t mind. Unlike Miss Michaels cheating the day before, Meg won honestly.
He chased after her. “Well perhaps I will stop throwing snow at you then and simply throw you at the snow.”
Their joyful laughter merged as he approached, her quick steps no match for his long stride. In a matter of moments, he caught up with her, reaching out and grasping her wrist. She squealed as his other arm curled around her waist, turning her to face him. His arms wrapped around her, and he brought her closer toward him, lifting her in the air and making a motion to feign throwing her in the snow.
She squirmed, breathless with laughter. “I forfeit. I forfeit!”
With a chuckle, he lowered her feet to the ground, though he kept his arms around her. “You should know better than to provoke me, Meg. I always win.”
She stared up at him, her laughter subsiding and smile softening. Her fingers clasped together as she pressed them to her chest. “Always?” she asked, still breathing heavily. “Might I have some hope of winning one day?”
He stared up at the snowflakes still falling, pretending to ponder her question. “Perhaps one day, if you are persistent enough. And if you do not give up so easily as you have done now.”
He dropped his eyes to give her a pointed look, but when he noted her serious expression, his teasing smile faded away. The falling snowflakes clung to her blonde locks like dainty pearls. Her face was thinner than he remembered. When had it lost its girlish shape? And when had her cheeks become so rosy, her lips so red?
He’d always thought Meg was pretty, but she was more than that now. Somewhere in the jumble of his being occupied with school and his attempts to keep things the same in his life, he’d missed the change that had occurred. She was not the same girl he’d known before. His friend was now a woman. A beautiful, grown, and accomplished lady who smelled of peppermint.
Their eyes met, the blue of hers like the color of snow blanketing the fields at night. As he perused her face, a small spark lit in his chest. He welcomed the comforting feeling as it warmed his limbs and caused his heart to skip a beat.
But the warmth blew out as swiftly as a single, trembling candle when the door to Hollridge clicked open nearby. Matthew dropped his hands, and he and Meg both took a simultaneous step away from each other as they faced Matthew’s father standing in the open doorway.
“Your mother and Louisa have been looking for you both,” Father said. He paused, his eyes lingering on Meg’s dress before dropping to Matthew’s coat strewn across the snow. “You two do know it is snowing out here, do you not?”
Matthew could barely comprehend Father’s comment, his mind reeling with confusion. What was that…that warmth that occurred within him as he held his friend in his arms? How had it felt so natural, so right? And why in heaven’s name did he feel as if he’d been caught sneaking extra sweets or slipping out of church early?
He fidgeted with his collar, heat rising up his neck. “Yes, Father. That is why we are out here—because of the snow.”
Father’s eyes moved between the two of them. “Very well. I’ll leave you both to your merriment then.”
“No need, Mr. Pratt,” Meg said, leaving Matthew’s side and making for the house. “I am excessively cold now and should like to sit by the fire.”
Father smiled warmly at Meg as she walked past him. He turned next to Matthew. “What of you, son?”
“I suppose I will, as well.”
He retrieved his coat from the snow, not bothering to place it around his shoulders. He didn’t really need it anyway. He was feeling a little overheated.
He approached Father, who held the door open for him. “How are you fairing with your mother’s bargain?” his father asked under his breath.
Matthew glanced through the open doorway and around the front hall to ensure Meg was nowhere in sight. “Easier than I ever anticipated,” he lied.
Father clapped his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Excellent. And what of our own wager? I trust you’ve not fallen in love with anyone yet.”
Matthew forced a flippant laugh at his father’s teasing. “Of course not. Your task is even easier than Mother’s.”
He walked away with a forced smirk, ignoring Father’s knowing smile and the unsettling heat that returned to his chest at his father’s question—and the memory it evoked of Meg’s eyes peering into his own.
* * *
That night, Meg sat with the Pratts in the drawing room after dinner. With her legs tucked under her on the settee, the glowing fire’s warmth extended to all in the room, and Louisa’s animated tone reading The Mysteries of Udolpho, Meg should have felt a great deal of comfort. These were some of her favorite moments with the Pratts, especially during Christmastide, when they had no parties to attend, no people to call upon. Just the five of them enjoying one another’s company.<
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So why in heaven’s name could she not keep her fingers from fidgeting with the lace at the bottom of her dress, or her eyes from repetitively straying to where Matthew sat playing chess with his father?
Of course she already knew the answer, but she wouldn’t allow her mind to linger there for long. After all, she was sure that Matthew peering into her eyes as the snow drifted down around them hadn’t meant a thing to him, though it had to her. As he’d held her in his arms, she had almost revealed her true feelings. Had Matthew discovered them? Had she scared him away?
Louisa paused in her reading, stifling a yawn behind her fingers.
“Are you to stop for the night, my dear?” Mrs. Pratt asked, sitting on a chair nearest the fire.
Louisa shook her head. “When I’m finished with this chapter. Unless anyone has objection to my continuing?”
She glanced about the room then smiled happily to herself at the general consensus for her to carry on.
As she took up the story once more, Meg caught Mrs. Pratt’s eye. She returned her kind smile then looked away.
She’d always loved the woman. The Pratts had only lived in Haxby for a few weeks before her parents had dropped Meg off on their doorstep for the first time. Apparently, the Bakers preferred her to be in the care of the Pratts, as opposed to just her governess, as they had done for prior years.
At first, Meg had been terrified to be near the towering Mrs. Pratt, but in a matter of days, she came to see just how wonderfully different she was from her own mother. She took her dress shopping, listened to her sorrows, always treated her with kindness. Meg loved her, and she thought Mrs. Pratt returned that love.
So why was she pushing seemingly every other woman—apart from Meg—toward Matthew? Was Meg so very unlikeable? Did Mrs. Pratt not wish Meg to be a part of their permanent family?
The doubting questions assailed her mind until a movement caught her eye, and Mrs. Pratt moved to sit down beside her on the settee.
Meg pulled in her feet with a smile, though her eyes skirted away.
“How are you this evening, dear Meg?” Mrs. Pratt whispered, using the endearment each of the Pratts had adopted for years.
She spoke softly enough to not interrupt Louisa’s reading, though Louisa was staring at the pages so intently, Meg was certain nothing could break her concentration.
“I am well,” Meg responded, hoping her words sounded more convincing than they felt to her heart.
“Are you certain? You seem a little, well, a little troubled.”
Mrs. Pratt had always been able to discern her feelings. When Meg had attended her first ball, she sat out three dances in a row, and her young self could hardly handle the embarrassment. While Meg’s parents sampled the refreshments, Mrs. Pratt had brought Matthew forward from his hiding place near the edge of the ballroom to dance with Meg. Afterward, she’d had a partner for every dance, something she knew she had to attribute to Mrs. Pratt’s persuasive words.
With how astute the woman was, Meg attempting to hide her feelings would be futile. Still, she couldn’t admit to loving Matthew. Not while she was still unsure as to why Mrs. Pratt didn’t love Meg enough to want her as part of the Pratt family.
In response, she simply shrugged.
Mrs. Pratt reached over, squeezing Meg’s hand with her own. “I understand perfectly, my dear. I will press you no further. Merely know that I am here to help, should you ever be in need of it. I wish for your happiness, as I do for all my children.”
The words struck Meg as realization finally took hold of her mind. Mrs. Pratt wanted Meg and Matthew to both be happy. That was why she wasn’t pushing for Meg to be his spouse—because she had no idea Meg was in love with her son.
Shame gripped its frigid fingers around Meg’s heart. Mrs. Pratt loved her, perhaps even more than her own mother did. How could she have ever thought otherwise?
“Thank you, Mrs. Pratt,” she whispered.
A look of sympathy crossed Mrs. Pratt’s features so keenly, Meg instantly had to fight back tears.
“I…I know it cannot be easy with your parents away so often,” Mrs. Pratt said, “nor is it easy when they are here. But I must tell you, last year was very hard on us while you were at Stoneworth. There was a distinctively sweet spirit missing from our home that could only be filled with your presence. How glad we all are that you are here celebrating with us again this winter.”
Unable to say a word but wishing to express her love and gratitude for the woman who had brought such happiness to her life, Meg merely smiled. Mrs. Pratt, seeming to understand, patted Meg’s hand once more then leaned back on the settee, remaining at Meg’s side as she returned her focus to Louisa, who hadn’t missed a beat in her reading.
Meg tried to pay attention to the words, but her thoughts continued to run. A fleeting desire to tell Mrs. Pratt the truth flickered in her mind, but she disregarded it. If all of the Pratts knew of her feelings, and Matthew ended up refusing her, she couldn’t bear the embarrassment, nor the compassion, that would surely follow. The rejection would be far easier to bear with only Louisa aware.
But Matthew wouldn’t reject her. Would he?
Her eyes made their way across the room to where he sat at the chess table. Instead of his attention being focused on the pieces of his game, it was directed toward Meg. Her stomach flipped, settling down with a firm thud. She sent him a hesitant smile when he maintained his staring, but he made no move to return it, nor did he blink, staring at her in an obvious daze.
“You do realize it is your turn, Matthew?” Mr. Pratt whispered.
Matthew blinked, pulling his eyes from Meg. “Yes, merely thinking.”
Meg watched him for only a moment longer, but he did not look her way again. Instead his attention moved from the game to his sister, whom he watched with soft eyes and clear, brotherly affection. Was that not the same way he’d been staring at Meg?
The logs settled farther into the fireplace, and she turned her attention to the embers shooting above the blaze, the flames brightening for a moment before dying down, just like her hope of Matthew ever seeing her as more than his sister.
Chapter Six
“Are we all looking forward to the evening?”
Meg eyed Mrs. Pratt, who sat across from her in the carriage. The woman was obviously seeking positivity from her family and Meg, but hardly anyone could manage to muster more than a weak smile in response.
“Of course, my dear,” Mr. Pratt responded, though his own light tone didn’t reach his eyes. “We always enjoy a party at the Warrens’.”
Yes. They enjoyed a party at the Warrens’ as greatly as one would enjoy the removal of a frostbitten toe.
Meg stared out of the window at the patches of snow that remained scattered across the dark, frozen countryside. The Warrens were a kind enough family, but their affluence made their two single daughters rather unbearable. This New Year’s Eve, Meg didn’t have the energy nor the patience to handle such snobbery. Not when all she wanted was to relive the three previous days she’d spent with Matthew.
She glanced sidelong at him. His head and shoulders moved back and forth as the carriage bounced along the roadway. He had certainly kept up his end of the bargain the last few days, as he always did with the deals he made. He’d spent every moment from morning to evening with Meg and Louisa, buying sweets for them at the bakery, enjoying horse rides together, and playing games until well into the night. This made it all the more difficult to look forward to an evening of sharing him with the Warrens.
As the carriage stopped in front of Casterly Hall, Meg exited and moved her eyes about the grand house with its matching curved stairways, and four towering columns lining up to reach the double doors. It certainly was garish. Perfect for the Warrens.
“Are you ready to entertain tonight, Matthew?” she asked as they walked together side by side up the steps.
“Not by any means. But am I ever?”
His light words were void of any teasing
smile. She felt for him. The man truly despised socializing. “Well, not to worry. I shall make this evening enjoyable for you.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“I have my ways.”
She sent him a coy look, to which he finally responded with a smile of his own.
Matthew had always been the one to improve Meg’s mood when they were children. When she’d first arrived at Hollridge, she’d hardly said a word to anyone. She wasn’t listened to by her parents, so why would the Pratts treat her any differently? It was Matthew, however, who had finally been able to pull her from her voiceless hiding place with his friendly teasing and kind attention.
Not much had changed. Except, of course, her feelings for him.
They entered the house and moved with the footman to the drawing room where they were greeted at once by the warmth of the fire, the smell of steaming tea and sweet foods, and the sounds of laughter and conversation as more than twenty people filled the spacious room.
Multiple tables were set up, adorned with bright candles and new decks of cards. A refreshment area was arranged at the back of the room. Covering the table were crystal glasses for port and sherry and shining silver trays heaping with pastries, cold meats, and various finger foods, ready for guests to serve themselves when hungry or parched.
The greenery decking the drawing room made Hollridge House feel scant and bare. Every window was brightened with tapers in gold and glass candleholders. The mantelpiece flourished with foliage, and each table around the room was decorated with twigs of berries tied together with ribbons and placed on top of an evergreen bough.
Even with all the lavishness, Meg preferred the comfort and relaxed, unassuming atmosphere of the Pratts’ home.
“So happy you could join us this evening,” Mrs. Warren said, approaching the Pratts and Meg as Mr. Warren and their daughters trailed closely behind.
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