"I like him very much," Anthea admitted. She walked away from Nicholas to look out the window. She had tried to avoid him, but he seemed to be always somewhere around.
She heard Nicholas get up and walk across the room to stand behind her. "Your mother tells me that you ..." he paused, searching for words, "you have something of an attachment for Vincent Wolcott. I'm sorry I laughed when you mentioned him."
Anthea turned to look at him. Feeling suddenly giddy, she turned back to look out the window, seeing nothing. "I don't have an attachment for Vincent. It's true he's offered for me, but. . ." she paused, "I'm not sure I wish to marry right now."
"I understand that problem completely," Nicholas said, a touch of bitter laughter in his voice. He hesitated for a moment. "Do you truly care for him?"
Anthea took a deep breath. Much as she would like to in this instance, she had never been able to he. "He's a dear friend, and I care for him very much." That was true as far as it went.
"Ah." Nicholas moved to stand where he could lean against the window frame and look at her.
"What do you mean, 'ah'?"
He laughed softly. "That means that I know what you're saying to me, Annie. Do you remember that I usually knew what you were thinking?"
"I remember many things, Nicholas, not the least of which was the way you asked me to break our engagement. Now, if you don't mind, I have several things to do." She walked -away from him and caught her breath. Something about him being close to her always brought on an attack of breathlessness. '
"1 apologize for that, Annie." His voice was low. "It was because I was thinking of you that I did it."
"Thinking of me!" She turned to face him. "That's ridiculous! You were thinking of your own selfish person, not of me."
He crossed the room and took her hand. "That's not true, Annie. I knew myself well enough to realize that I hadn't seen enough of the world, and, if we had married then, I would have been like all the other young bucks in London— chasing around to sample a taste of every vice in town. I couldn't do that to you."
"So you decided to get rid of me, then sample every vice in town."
He let go of her hand. "Annie, it wasn't that way at all."
"Don't try to cozen me, Nicholas, it won't work anymore. Now if you'll excuse me . . ." She fled out the door and up to her room before he could say anything else to her.
She successfully avoided Nicholas for the rest of the day. Lady Lynden took her to task at supper for not being sociable and suggested that perhaps she was coming down with something. Anthea did protest a headache and left Lady Lynden and Nicholas talking together, telling them she
wished to go to bed early.
Anthea did go to bed and slept for an hour or so, then woke up. She lit her candle, tried to read a novel for a while to make her sleepy, then blew the candle out and lay there in the dark, thinking. Around midnight, she thought she heard a noise and, after listening intently, decided it was someone giggling. She got up, put on her dressing gown, and went out in the hall just in time to see Ned and Dickon, barefooted, running toward the nursery, carrying some cakes and laughing. Anthea followed to the nursery door and was just about to open it when she heard a voice behind her. "Surely you don't want to catch the measles for Christmas. " She turned to face Nicholas.
"I saw Dickon and Ned running down the hall, laughing and eating. Dickon certainly didn't look sick." Her voice was sharp.
"You must have been dreaming. Let me look." Nicholas moved her away from the door and opened it, peering inside. "They're both in bed, sound asleep," he said, closing the door carefully.
"I'm telling you I saw them, and what's more, Dickon didn't have a spot on him."
"Annie, did you take anything for your headache? Let me get you some milk or tea." Nicholas took her arm and walked her back down the hall toward her room. "You must have been having nightmares." He propelled her through the open door of her room. "Go on to bed, and I'll be right back with something for you to drink. Would you like some laudanum? The doctor left some for me to give Dickon when he was feverish."
Anthea whirled on him. "Don't patronize me, Nicholas. No, I do not want anything to drink or any laudanum. Furthermore, I know what I saw. I saw Dickon and Ned carrying cakes to the nursery. They were giggling, and there wasn't a thing wrong with either of them."
Nicholas looked injured. "If they were out, they shouldn't have been, I assure you. They were in bed when I looked in on them. Believe me, I'll talk to them tomorrow.
Dickon could expose the whole household to catastrophe if he doesn't stay in the nursery." He smiled sweetly at her and took her hand in his. "Go back to bed, Annie, you do look tired. If I can't get you something to drink, I can tell you good night and sleep well." He smiled at her, and before she knew what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed her softly. "Good night, sweet," he said, smiling at her again as he closed the door.
Anthea stood there in shock for a moment before she walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. They were tingling where Nicholas had touched her. Would these feelings for him never go away? Just when she had thought she had forgotten, he had reappeared. She couldn't —wouldn't —allow herself to be hurt a second time.
The next morning was Christmas Eve, and Lady Lynden reported that Dickon was worse. She suspected he had been out of bed and had suffered a backset. Anthea told her she had seen the boys and mentioned that Dickon didn't have any spots. "I know," Lady Lynden said, frowning. "He won't get better until the spots appear. I hope it's soon."
"Oh," Anthea said, "I thought the spots appeared immediately."
Lady Lynden smiled indulgently. "No, dear, they're the last thing to happen. Tell me, have you seen Nicholas?"
"No, and I don't intend to." Anthea got up and left. She thought she heard her mother chuckle as she went out the door but decided she must have been mistaken.
That night Anthea went to bed early and slept soundly until the middle of the night. Something woke her up, a slight scratching, scrabbling sound. There was a red glow from the fireplace where the last log was still burning slowly. She sat up in bed and looked around. There, sitting on the hearth, was a familiar figure. She peered again, just to make sure. It certainly looked like Bertram — she was positive it was Bertram. Quickly she got out of bed, but as soon as she moved, Bertram scurried away, running for safety
under the clothespress. Anthea quickly lit a candle and got down on her hands and knees but could see nothing in the darkness. She was going to have to lure Bertram back out where she could see him.
If she managed to capture Bertram, she thought, where would she keep him? Nicholas had taken his cage for Chatwin to repair. There was only one thing she could do — go to the kitchen and get some cheese, try to capture Bertram, then keep him in a hatbox until morning when she could give him to Nicholas. Quickly she stirred up the fire and put on her slippers and dressing gown. She took her candle out into the hall and went down to the kitchen. She came back upstairs with a chunk of cheddar and a cup of tea to drink while she sat and waited for Bertram to take the bait. She had gotten as far as her door when Nicholas opened his door and stepped into the hall dressed in breeches and a shirt, his cravat untied and dangling.
"Unable to sleep, Annie?"
She hesitated a moment, then decided she might need help. "I've found Bertram, but he won't come out from under the clothespress. I've got some cheese to lure him out."
"I've got his cage. Just a minute." Nicholas went back into his room, reappearing with Bertram's cage, newly repaired. "Let's see if we can get him. Dickon would like to have Bertram back better than anything else."
They went in her room, and Nicholas put another stick of wood on the fire, then placed some cheddar in Bertram's cage and a trail of small bits leading to the clothespress. "There, that should do it. All we can do is wait."
They waited in a comfortable, familiar silence for the better part of
an hour, sitting quietly together on the hearth. Finally, Nicholas spoke. "I love you, Annie."
She looked up at him sharply. The light from the fire illuminated his face. "I love you," he said again. "I know I hurt you four years ago, and I'm sorry, but I want you to know that I never once stopped loving you."
"A strange way you showed it, Nicholas." She paused a
moment. "Judith Darcy plans to marry you," she said abruptly. "Surely you're aware cf that."
"I wondered when you would mention her." He closed his eyes and grimaced. "Yes, I'm more than aware that Judith Darcy has plans to marry me. She's made that abundantly clear." He touched Anthea's arm and leaned toward her. "Annie, I promise you that I never gave her the least encouragement. From the time I first met her in London, she's been everywhere I've been and has managed to trap me more than once into taking her places or driving out with her. And, worse, calling me 'dear Nicky' in public." He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "Annie, you know what kind of person she is: she lets nothing get in the way of what she wants. She and her mother invited themselves to Morven for Christmas, and I was more than rude about it, but nothing stopped either of them." He took her hand in his. "I've never cared in the least for Judith Darcy. Do you believe me?"
She smiled at him in the firelight. "I believe you, Nicholas."
He leaned back against the woodwork of the mantel. "Did you ever wonder why there was never really anyone else for me, Annie? It was because I was always comparing others to you, and they were never what you were. I think I've loved you always." He paused a moment, listening to the hall clock chime. "It's after midnight, Annie, and that means it's Christmas. You said we could tell our yuletide wishes on Christmas Eve, and since I didn't tell you then, I'm going to tell you now." He reached over and took her hands in his. "I wish you would marry me, Annie. That's all I've ever wanted, I just didn't know it before." He drew her to him and kissed her. "Annie, please," he whispered, "I promise you I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy."
"Nicholas," she whispered. Her head told her to say no, but she found herself murmuring his name again. It was all she could say before he kissed her again.
"I love you, Annie," he whispered again, his lips against
her neck.
I love you, Nicholas." She pulled away shakily, but he
Then you will mam me — you'll make my yuletide wish come true?' 4
"Nicholas,* she began, trying to listen to ha- head, but she looked into his eyes in the firelight, and dial was her sed her again, thoroughly. "Yes," she finally murmured against : She never wanted th
Nicholas shifted his Height so he could not e her closer to him. There was a noisy chatter and a screech. Bertram had crawled between them and was being squeezed. "Grab hin las said, reaching for the elusive mouse.
Bertram dodged him and leapt up on Antheas dressing gown, his claws scrab he lace edging so he woul
Anthea laughed and picked him up. "Bertram, do you . blems you've caused?" she asked, picking up a chunk of cheese for him to nibble.
She placed Bertram and the cheese in the cage, a s fastened it. "Look at him eat," Nicholas remarked as Bertram fell on the cheese voraciously. "I think that ■ been his yuletide wish."
Nicholas was afraid to onger for fear someone
would discover them, so he took Bertram and started back to his room. At her door he pausetl and kissed Anthem again, lingering over the touch. "You didn't tell me your yuletide wish," he murmured. "Do you want to?"
p ¥kH" she said with a smile, "but I will. I didn't want to wish it, but it was my first wish a: opped right into
breath. "I wished you would fall in love with me again.*
"That came true," he said with a smile. "I never stopped loving you, fa fall in love with you all over again. I
don't know which is better. 9 He toadied bcr face with his fingers, and Bertram's cage clanged against the door where he held it with his other hand. Td better say good night,* he whispered, closing the door reluctar
Anthea leaned against the closed door and looked out at the Christmas stars. "Thank you," she murmured.
The next morning, Lady Lynden came into Anthea's room before she got up. "I understand from Ryven that the two of you have cause for celebration this Christmas," she said. "I'm delighted."
"So am I," Anthea said, smiling and stretching luxuriously in the bed. "Merry Christmas, Mother."
"Come down for breakfast. We have a surprise for you." Lady Lynden smiled at Anthea. "Merry Christmas, my dear." "
Anthea went downstairs to the breakfast parlor and was certainly surprised. Dickon, Ned, Nicholas, and Lady Lynden all sat there, looking quite pleased with themselves. Nicholas came over and put his arm around her. "It's time to tell yuletide wishes," he said. "My yuletide wish was that Anthea accept my offer to be my wife," he told them, "and this Christmas, my wish came true."
"Mine—ours," Dickon looked at Ned, "came true. We both wished that you and Anthea would get married, didn't we, Ned?" He smiled happily. "All this and Bertram back, too."
Anthea sat down, too surprised to stand any longer. "I thought you were deathly ill, Dickon. Did you have a miraculous recovery?"
"Yuletide wishes, Anthea," Lady Lynden said cryptically.
"Yuletide wishes? Good heavens, Mama, whatever—" She stopped suddenly and looked at the boys. "All right, out with it. Why are you two looking like the cats that ate the cream?"
"It was our yuletide wishes," Ned began, looking to Nicholas for support.
"You told us that we were supposed to work to make our yuletide wishes come true," Nicholas said, smiling." So we did."
"Yes." Ned grinned in satisfaction. "And work it was. It was certainly no easy job getting rid of Miss Darcy, and it
was touch and go there for a while because we couldn't figure out a reason for Nicholas to stay here. Then Mama had the brilliant idea of having Dickon come down with the measles."
"You never had the measles?" Anthea was aghast.
Dickon laughed and shook his head. "No, but I think staying in the nursery was worse. I do want to tell you, Anthea, that I wouldn't have stayed shut up in there for anyone else except you."
"We had to do something in a hurry so that I had an excuse to stay here," Nicholas said. "I thought it worked rather well." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "We're going to have to leave shortly for Morven Hall so we can announce our engagement at the New Year's ball. This time, I dont want to wait."
Anthea smiled back at him. "Nor do I. My only question is how we're going to fit Bertram into the wedding party."
"Mama will think of a way," Ned said serenely, "won't you, Mama?"
"Of course. I always do." Lady Lynden smiled beatifi-cally at them. "I knew the two of you were still in love with each other. All it took was a small nudge for you to discover it." She rose and went to the door, turning to smile at them. "Merry Christmas, my dears, and I wish you many more."
<&3£d6y@ik>tte
^^^i^
"Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross."
Startled, Charlotte Kinley lifted her head and stared blankly at her abigail. "What did you say, Sarah?"
"It's the old nursery rhyme, ma'am. We're jist leaving the town of Banbury, and I was wondering why I didn't see no cross."
Charlotte glanced out the window of the carriage at the handsome stone houses lining the street. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed they'd arrived in this old market town of northern Oxfordshire on the banks of the Cherwell River.
"Actually, I believe the cross was destroyed long ago by the Puritans," she informed the abigail with a smile. Then, as the carriage rattled across a stone bridge and headed westward out of the town, she began to shiver. Not that it was especially cold, even though it was past the middle of December. She shivered because her heart felt like a lump of ice. During the journey from her home in Lancashire, the passing miles had served as a kind of insulation against her apprehensions. No
w, suddenly, she realized she was only a few miles away from destiny. Eight miles, to be exact. Cortona, the estate of the Marquess of Sherborne, lay eight miles to the west of Banbury. There, on Christmas Eve, at a grand gathering of the county, her betrothal to Lord Sherborne would be announced.
Yielding to a momentary panic, she lifted her hand to knock at the window glass and order the coachman to stop the
carriage, to turn it around and head back to Bury, the mill town in Lancashire where she'd spent most of her life. There was still time to change her mind. She needn't fulfill her promise to marry a stranger. But before she could rap on the glass, reason and common sense took over. Her hand dropped. It was too late to change her mind. She was committed to marrying a man she'd met only three times in her life.
She thought back to that first meeting, less than three months ago, feeling again the shock of utter surprise and grief at the revelation that had preceded it . . .
Phineas Kinley put down his glass of claret and said abruptly to his daughter, Charlotte, "I've been keeping something from ye, love, something ye ought to know. Dr. Lyall's given me notice to quit."
"Papa!" Charlotte gasped. She and her father were sitting in the snug parlor of the house off the High Street of Bury, enjoying a companionable half-hour at the end of the day, as they'd grown accustomed to doing in the years since the death of her mother. Charlotte looked at Phineas closely. Gray haired and ruddy of face, he was much heavier now than he'd been in his youth, but he didn't look ill. "I don't believe it," she said firmly. "You're not dying, or anything close to it."
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