Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball

by Heidi Ashworth

  I could never live in such a marriage, forever in debt to my husband, as I feel forever indebted to Mother and Aunt. That life would be too similar to what I already have.

  She tried to assure herself as she ate egg and sipped tea. Edward’s money would make life for someone like her far more comfortable in temporal matters, and that was not something to brush off as inconsequential.

  In spite of herself, her mind kept wandering back to Edward’s rugged features, his broad shoulders, wide smile, warm eyes, strong hands . . .

  Her breath stilled as realization shot through her: She’d fallen in love, quickly and intensely. How did one control the heart? She had no ideas on that count and certainly couldn’t talk to Andrew or Emma about it. All she could do was hope that Edward Blakemoore’s stay with Mr. Clement would be brief—that he would leave for London soon and never return. That would be for the best.

  But if that was so, why did tears swim in her vision at the thought of never seeing Edward again?

  “I do wish Andrew and Emma had come down for breakfast,” Mother said, picking at her food with the tines of her fork. “But I suppose that’s to be expected after returning late from the ball.”

  “Indeed,” Aunt Matilda replied. “I anticipate hearing all about Dunstead House, its new owner, and his new wife.”

  Olivia looked from her mother to her aunt, her heart rate picking up and her eyes drying in an instant from sudden nerves. She felt as if she stood on a precipice, as if her actions, or lack thereof, in the next moment would determine her destiny. She could remain silent and continue as she had for years, or she could speak boldly for once in her adult life. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking, then enunciated as clearly as she could, “I could give you as good a report as either of them, seeing as how I also attended the ball at Dunstead Manor.”

  Matilda gasped, leading to a coughing fit. Mother seemed oblivious to her sister; her fork dropped to her plate and her jaw hung open as she gaped at Olivia. “You . . . you what?”

  No more pretense.

  “You heard correctly,” she said. “Emma was kind enough to lend me one of her gowns, and I rode in their carriage.” She looked about the table, which had grown eerily silent. Even Aunt Matilda’s coughing had ceased, and her mouth hung open as well. The two elder women looked as if they’d seen the very monster of Frankenstein.

  Olivia refused to recant her words, though every nerve in her body demanded it. The consequences of such an admission would be dire. With equal intensity, her heart refused to surrender. If my experience at the ball is to not go to waste, I must press on.

  She swallowed, gripping her hands even more tightly in hopes of keeping the rest of her body from trembling. “That’s right. I attended the ball. After we arrived, Andrew was kind enough to make introductions to both Mr. Clement and to his guest, Mr. Blakemoore, with whom I enjoyed a dance. He is quite accomplished on the dance floor.”

  And he’s intelligent and well read and kind and . . .

  When silence continued from the others, Olivia went on. “Dunstead Manor is magnificent. The ballroom is the largest I’ve seen, with a beautiful inlaid floor and sparkling chandeliers. Gorgeous tapestries. I believe even you would be impressed with the size and elegant decor.” She wasn’t entirely sure which woman she meant with the latter comment, but it fit either.

  “Well, I—” Matilda began.

  “No daughter of mine—” Mother tried.

  But Olivia refused to listen. She pushed away from the table, stood, and said, “I won’t be accompanying you on the morning walk today. I’m quite fatigued from the ball, you see. I shall retire to the library to read.”

  Heart pounding like a drum, Olivia walked out of the dining room, head up and shoulders back, much as she’d walked into Dunstead Manor. She’d only just gotten out of their line of sight when her knees refused to carry her farther, and she had to lean against the wall for support. In her middle, the old dread fought against a delicious thrill and excitement—and the thrill won. Olivia grinned, looking back at the dining room door.

  Mother will likely call a doctor to find something wrong with my head.

  The thought should have been only a shade away from horrifying. Instead, Olivia laughed, feeling the weight of a lifetime of pretense exiting her body and making way for the real Olivia to live. She took a deep breath and, as promised, retired to the library to read in peace instead of turning her toes to ice while walking behind her relations. She slipped a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets from one of her many hiding places. Forcing thoughts of Edward out of her mind, even though he was the reason behind the selection, she settled on the window seat, reading by the light of the morning sun.

  Chapter Eleven

  The last thing Edward expected from knocking on the front door of Pine Park was a dismissal. He held his top hat in both hands and cocked his head to one side. “Pardon?”

  “Mrs. Wallington and her sister are not available at the moment,” a middle-aged and somewhat irritable-looking serving woman said, holding the door open only six inches or so.

  “Is Miss Wallington in?” Edward pressed.

  The woman blinked as if bored, something Edward wasn’t used to. “I believe she’s home, but—”

  “May I speak with her? It’s about a most urgent matter.” He had to use effort to not bend the brim of his hat and to sound firm yet polite. He had to see Olivia. Had to. He knew little of the ways of women’s minds and hearts, but he felt in his bones that any delay in seeing her would cost him the opportunity to be with her—a price he was entirely unwilling to pay.

  The servant woman raised her brow, creating rows of wrinkles on her forehead. “Alone?”

  “No,” he said. “I mean, technically alone, yes, but—”

  If only the winter had passed; then they could take a turn about the gardens, with chaperones walking ahead, and then he could speak from his heart. He hadn’t thought about what such a conversation would entail indoors, or that her mother, aunt or both—heaven forbid—would be present for the sake of propriety.

  “Please, may I come in? I’m willing to wait.”

  The woman tilted her head and seemed to consider, which made hope flare briefly in Edward’s chest. She opened the door a bit wider too. But then she seemed to reconsider. “Sir, I regret to inform you that—”

  “Why, Edward, is that you?”

  “Andrew!” Edward called with relief. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of asking for him first?

  The servant woman released the door and turned to Andrew. “You know this gentleman, sir?”

  “I most certainly do,” Andrew said, ushering Edward inside. “This is Mr. Blakemoore, whom I’ve known since I was a boy. Come in, old chap. Let’s go to the library for drinks.”

  “Mr. Wallington, sir,” the woman called apologetically.

  Andrew turned about expectantly. “What is it, Betty?”

  The maid’s eyes darted between the men, and she wrung her hands as if worried that the lady of the house would dismiss her for letting a stranger inside. “Miss Wallington is already in the library, sir.” She took a nervous step forward. “Shall I bring you tea in the parlor instead?”

  With a nod, Andrew began to reply, but Edward raised a hand to interrupt. He spoke in a hushed tone directly to Andrew. “The library. Please.”

  For a few seconds, not a word passed between the friends; the only sound in the hall was Betty’s shoes shifting nervously, accompanied by her shallow breathing. Edward silently pled with every ounce of his soul, praying that Andrew would either understand his desires or agree to the library purely on the grounds of friendship.

  “V-very well,” Andrew finally said, drawing out each word. “Shall we . . . inform Miss Wallington of our impending arrival so she may vacate the library if she wishes?”

  The only answer Edward gave was the shake of his head. He wanted to say more, to explain, but that would have to wait until the listening ears of servants wer
en’t around.

  Andrew looked past Edward to Betty. “Tea in the library, Betty. For three?” He eyed Edward, who nodded again. “For three,” Andrew confirmed. “I’ll escort Mr. Blakewood myself.”

  Betty curtsied. “Yes, sir,” she said and hurried down the hall.

  When she was gone, Andrew turned to face Edward full on. “What was that all about? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been hit in the head. Is my mother’s library so extraordinary that you must see it this morning?” He turned toward a corridor off the foyer, gesturing Edward to follow and speaking over his shoulder as he walked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were—” His step came up short, and Edward nearly ran into him.

  The two stared at each other. Edward’s heartbeat thudded in his ears as Andrew’s gaze seemed to rake him over. Edward stood as tall as he could; he had at least two inches over Andrew. “You’d think I was what?” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted Andrew to guess the truth or remain ignorant.

  “That you were hoping to see a lady in the library—alone.” Andrew chuckled and shook his head. “But that’s stuff and nonsense. It’s only Oli—” This time, understanding broke over his face as if someone had suddenly shone a lamp there.

  “Shh,” Edward said, putting a finger to his lips. He stepped to the side of the hall, taking his friend with him. “I must speak with her, and you may be chaperone, but you mustn’t listen.”

  Andrew folded his arms and leaned against the wallpapered hall. “And if I do?” he asked, grinning mischievously.

  “Stop that,” Edward said. “That face belongs to a young James laying tacks on the headmaster’s chair.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Apparently, Andrew wouldn’t be dissuaded.

  “Very well.” Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath before launching into the truth. “I hold your sister in high regard. We haven’t been acquainted for long, but we did meet before the ball, quite accidentally, and she’s been on my mind ever since. As her brother, you’re likely unaware of how remarkable and beautiful—”

  “My sister,” Andrew said. “You speak of Miss Wallington?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Olivia Wallington?”

  “Yes. Of course I mean Olivia.” Edward sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, then turned his back to the wall and leaned against it, feeling the weight of defeat. “As her brother, you are likely unaware of her many admirable qualities, but I assure you, I am not so ignorant.”

  “What qualities do you mean?” Andrew said, his voice no longer teasing.

  “She is . . . beautiful. Breathtaking.” Edward knew his voice must sound like a fool’s, but he didn’t care. He could see Olivia in his mind’s eye and, at the moment, wanted nothing more than to dance with her again, walk the terrace with her again—and then attempt to change how they’d parted. “She is remarkable, Andrew. Intelligent. Funny. Clever. Kind. Intriguing. And I simply cannot get her out of my mind.” He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “But I’m afraid I said something last night that wounded her—entirely without intention, you can be assured—and she left, hurt and upset nonetheless.”

  Edward stared at the rose pattern on the rug at his feet. “I cannot bear to think that I am the cause of her pain. Whether she will forgive me or send me away, I don’t know, but I must apologize. And then I hope that she’ll give me another chance. Surely you understand, Andrew. As a newly married man, I imagine James would too.”

  “Understand what, precisely?” Andrew said.

  “What it feels like to have fallen in love.” He stood there, leaning against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, hat in hand, his heart sinking further and further.

  After what felt like a near eternity, with no answer from his friend, Edward turned his gaze from the rug toward Andrew, but he no longer stood there. Olivia had taken his place, and Andrew had retreated at least two yards down the hall. He, too, leaned against the wall in a similar stance, and he wore a grin wider than the Channel itself. Edward looked at Olivia, who stood only an arm’s length away. She had a book clasped in one arm and wore an expression of hope rather than of hurt or anger. Edward glanced in Andrew’s direction again.

  “I’ll be in the library if anyone needs me,” Andrew said, and ducked into the room.

  Alone at last, Edward stepped forward and took Olivia’s free hand. “Did you hear what I told your brother?”

  Olivia shook her head, looking flushed and bewildered. Edward screwed up his courage and said what he’d come to say. “I have been utterly wretched since last night. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

  “It is quite all right, Mister—”

  “No, it isn’t,” Edward said, stepping a hair closer.

  “It isn’t?” Olivia said a tad breathlessly. He took that as a good sign.

  Shaking his head, he said, “No, it isn’t all right. I must explain myself and hope I do a far better job than I did last night. You are a strong, wonderful woman—one who, quite simply, needs neither pity nor rescuing, as I believe my foolish tongue implied last night.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers, then stroked them with his thumb. He had no desire to ever release her hand. “The truth is, Miss Wallington—”

  “Olivia.”

  He smiled at that. “The truth is, Olivia, that I’ve come to care for you—and far deeper and more quickly than I ever thought possible. I want to come to know everything about you, to hear you talk about books and anything else you learn and discover and think.”

  “Why didn’t you say those things last night?”

  “Because I’m a fool,” he said simply. “And because I didn’t yet have the words. I spent all night trying to find the right ones.”

  “So you don’t see me as a damsel to rescue?”

  “No.” How did one put this next part into words without offending her family? “I want you to be happy, to feel safe and content, to be able to express yourself. If being with me enables those things to happen—and prevents some measure of hurt from coming upon the woman I love—then that is what I want for her. What I want for you. I want you to be happy.”

  “You . . . love me?”

  He stepped even closer and gazed into her eyes. “In spite of my long-declared status of a bachelor, I do—very much.”

  Now it was her turn to step closer; he could smell her fragrance. “What would you have done if I’d sent you away?”

  Still holding her hand, he reached up with his other and stroked her cheek. “I would have cried out, ‘Oh! Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as naught; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.’ I would have no longer desired to exist.”

  She bit her lower lip, her cheeks turning pink in the way he’d come to love as she looked into his eyes. “You really did read the book.”

  He nodded. “Poor Victor,” he said, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Delightfully terrifying story.”

  “Most definitely,” she murmured.

  He kissed her jawline once, and then a second time, then paused for a moment to take in her beauty before closing his eyes and kissing the sweetness of her lips. She kissed him back, then pulled away, looked into his eyes, and gently ran a finger across his lower lip. “A real kiss is much sweeter than any dream.”

  “Good heavens,” came a deep voice from inside the library. “How much longer must I abide such talk?”

  The two stepped apart as Andrew came into the hall. Edward felt his ears turning red but couldn’t find it in his heart to mind, not when Olivia looked every bit as pink as he felt, and not when she’d accepted his kiss and forgiven him.

  “What a delightful turn of events,” Andrew said, clapping once. “Who should tell Mother?”

  Olivia laughed, the sound free and delightfully loud. “Not I, dear brother,” she said, pulling Edward along
behind her and into the library. “Edward, neither. I’ve done enough of handling Mother and Aunt with kid gloves. It’s your turn.”

  “I suppose I deserve that,” Andrew said, grinning through the doorway as his sister and friend settled side by side on a couch to read her book—a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

  “Mother will take the news far better from you anyway,” Olivia said, looking up.

  “Although,” Edward said suddenly, “let’s be clear on one point: you are not announcing a courtship. This, my friend, is an engagement.” He looked at Olivia hopefully.

  Olivia threaded her arm around his, and, without looking at the text of the book, quoted, “‘Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.’”

  Edward raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, relieved beyond measure.

  From the door, however, Andrew apparently couldn’t resist adding to the moment. “That’s not one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, dear sister.”

  “No,” Edward said, not moving his gaze from Olivia’s beautiful face. “It’s from Hamlet. But I echo the sentiment heartily.” He glanced at Andrew for but a moment and grinned at how the latter was rolling his eyes. “If our heartfelt poetry is so unbearable, I suggest you leave and inform your mother of our impending nuptials. We intend to read through every lovesick word the Bard ever wrote, regardless of how long it takes. Isn’t that right, Olivia?”

  “Of course,” she said. “‘Doubt that the stars are fire,’ but never doubt that I’ll sit for hours reading a good book with you.”

  “’Twould take a lifetime to read half of them.”

  “Then we’ll need at least that much time together, won’t we?” Olivia leaned against Edward. He wrapped his arm about her, and she fit perfectly in the hollow, as if she’d been born to belong at his side.

  “Undoubtedly, we will need at least a lifetime,” Edward said, and leaned in to kiss her forehead.