by Bree Wolf
“Last night,” Catherine mumbled, tears of joy clinging to her eyelashes. “I couldn’t sleep, and so I went down into the kitchen. He found me there and offered to help. I suppose he couldn’t sleep, either.”
Christine snorted. “Or he saw you leave and followed you.”
“Do you truly think so?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Christine said vehemently. “Did I not tell you that he would lose his heart to you all over again?”
A slight shadow fell over Catherine’s face.
“What is it?”
Her sister shrugged, then walked over to the window and looked out at the snow. “I’m never quite certain if he truly does love me or if he only…”
“Desires you?” Christine asked, seeing Wesley’s wicked grin before her mind’s eye as she spoke so boldly.
A slight blush came to her sister’s face, but she nodded. “How can I be certain? Of course, he hasn’t said anything about love. How could he? He believes me to be his−”
Footsteps echoed closer, and a moment later, William stepped into the parlour.
Obviously surprised to see them, his face paled and he stammered an apology before fleeing the room.
While Catherine’s face held a hint of sorrow, Christine laughed. “He loves you,” she whispered, grasping her sister’s hands. “I’m certain of it, and soon you will be, too.”
The next few days passed in fairly the same fashion. While Christine was busy with preparations, William and Catherine skulked around the house with hanging heads and wistful eyes, overjoyed to see the other, and yet, afraid to remain in the other’s company for too long. Sometimes, Christine felt the need to clunk their heads together in order to make them see what was so obvious. How could they not know? How could they not be certain of the other’s feelings?
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Wesley observed as he stepped into the parlour, his eyes gliding over the different kinds of fabric spread out over the settee as well as the two armchairs.
Christine shrugged. “I like being in charge,” she admitted, then raised her gaze to meet his. “Were you not aware of that?”
Wesley chuckled. “Not at all. It comes as quite the surprise for me,” he teased before his face sobered and he sat down next to her, pushing aside a roll of fabric. “Can I assume you run your parents’ household with the same firm hand?”
Christine sighed. “In that case, you’d actually assume wrong.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“My parents’ house is my mother’s domain,” she explained with a wistful smile. “She is too much like me and would never willingly relinquish control.”
Wesley laughed. “She sounds like a delightful creature.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Christine said, “You might be of a different opinion if you had to share your life with a woman like that. Because a woman like that−”
“A woman like you?”
“−would not simply run your household, she would run your life.”
A gentle smile came to his face as he looked at her. “That sounds very appealing.”
Christine snorted. “Wesley, please, you know as well as I do that you like to get your way. You like the idea of bowing your head to another as little as I do.”
“Why does anyone have to bow their head?” he asked, a somewhat incredulous look in his blue eyes. “Can we not both stand tall together?”
Christine sighed. “I suppose it’s possible, but extremely rare.”
A smile curled his lips as his eyes swept over her in admiration. “You’re a rare woman,” he whispered before a mischievous sparkle lit up his eyes, “and I like to believe that I’m a somewhat unusual man myself.”
Christine laughed. “You are indeed, Wesley Everett.” She rose from the settee, feeling the need to put a little distance between them for the way he looked at her was truly unsettling. “However, you know as well as I do that we are not a good match.” Turning to face him, she shook her head. “We are not the kind of people who commit for a lifetime.”
“But does that not speak in our favour?” he asked, abandoning his seat and coming toward her. “That we are of equal mind on this?”
Taking a deep breath, Christine eyed him critically as he approached, noting with a hint of concern the decrease in distance between them. “Are we?”
“Do you truly believe what you say?” he asked, a frown on his face. “Or are you just looking for reasons not to accept my proposal?”
Christine swallowed as his eyes held hers. Had he truly meant it?
“Marry me,” he whispered, “and I’ll gladly let you run my household as well as my life.”
Shaking her head, Christine tried her best to ignore the thudding of her heart as well as the delightful tingles his words trailed all over her body. “You do not mean what you say,” she said firmly, willing him as well as herself to believe it. “You only speak the way you do because …because you…you,” she licked her lips as he came closer, his eyes drilling into hers, “because you want me all to yourself.”
“I do want you all to myself,” he whispered as his arms came around her, pulling her against him. “I have from the moment we met.”
As his warm breath brushed over her skin and his eyes told her more than he could possibly say, Christine didn’t know what to think or do or feel because in that moment it was as though they merged into one being and she couldn’t even say where he ended and she began.
His hands tightened on her back, pressing her closer against him, as his head bent down to hers, his eyes searching her face before they dipped lower.
“Have you seen my brother?” William’s voice echoed through the half-open door.
Harrington’s butler cleared his throat. “I believe he’s in the parlour.”
At their voices, Wesley tensed, a low growl rising from his throat, before he stepped back. As his hands released her, Christine felt a stab of regret and she saw a matching expression cross over his face as well.
“Wesley, are you−?” William stuck his head in the door, but stopped the moment he perceived them. His eyes shifted over their faces, and Christine could have sworn she saw a glimmer of suspicion.
Fortunately, though, he did not act upon it.
Instead, a mask of polite indifference came to his face as he greeted them.
Knowing that uncomfortable silence was to follow, Christine quickly excused herself and fled the room. After everything that had happened, she needed a moment to herself.
With a sigh, she ascended the stairs. Now, she could not pretend that Wesley had not meant his proposal, but had only spoken in the heat of the moment. Now, his intentions had been quite clear.
Now, she would have to refuse him…or not?
Chapter Thirteen − The Christmas Ball
By the time the day of the Christmas Ball finally came, Wesley only wanted it to be over. Although he had to admit that Christine’s charade had been somewhat entertaining in the beginning, now it felt almost suffocating to not be himself, at least, not completely. He could not imagine how the two sisters felt, considering that they had to pretend to be the other.
Wesley shook his head. This had gone too far, and no matter what happened at the ball, the charade would end tonight.
To his surprise, Christine sought him out a mere hour before they were to depart for the ball and enlisted his help as well as her sister’s for yet another one of her daring plans. Only this time, it involved his friend’s sister Eleanor as well as the girl’s secret love Henry Waltham!
When he had first realised her intentions, Wesley had refused to have any part in the plan, and yet, now, as he found himself walking into the earl’s home, Catherine dressed in a flattering dark green dress on his arm, his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for said Henry Waltham.
Had he truly agreed to this? Again, he shook his head, and a soft chuckle escaped him. Had he not told her he would be delighted to allow her to run his life? Should he truly be
surprised that she would do so without even accepting his proposal?
“Are you all right?” Catherine asked, glancing up at him. “You seemed somewhat displeased when Christine shared her idea with us.”
“Shared her idea?” he mumbled, once again shaking his head in disbelief. “She did not share her idea. She all but told us what to do without so much as asking whether we were inclined to do so.”
Catherine smiled. “Would you have refused her?”
Wesley sighed. “No.” For a moment, his eyes lingered on Christine as she walked through the throng of guests on his brother’s arm before they caught sight of the very man Christine had them looking for. “There he is,” Wesley said, inconspicuously inclining his head to the right end of the refreshment table. “At least, I believe it’s him. With the mask, it’s not easy to be certain. However, he has the Waltham build. So, I suppose it could be him.”
“It could be him?” Catherine chuckled, her own worries temporarily suspended by Christine’s newest concoction. Then she turned her head, and her voice sobered. “And there is Eleanor with her mother,” she added, gesturing to the left end of said table. “Does the mask not look exactly like the one Christine described?”
Wesley shrugged, glad that Catherine was by his side for he could not for the life of him remember what the bloody thing ought to look like. However, what was even more telling than the mask was the fact that young Henry Waltham couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off Eleanor.
“Aw, the poor girl looks miserable. Where is Lord Stanhope?” Catherine looked around before catching sight of him as he came walking over.
“Good evening, dear friend,” Lord Stanhope greeted them with a slight incline of his head. “Your sulking face I would recognise anywhere.” An amused curl to his lips, his friend then turned his gaze to Catherine and his eyes seemed to narrow. “Christine Dansby, I presume.” His voice held a questioning tone as his gaze returned to Wesley.
Shrugging, Wesley held his inquisitive stare. “For now.”
“I see,” Lord Stanhope mumbled. “Do I dare ask what you’ve planned for tonight?”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Wesley simply shook his head. How was he to know? After all, it was not his plan!
“I see that your sister and mother have accompanied you tonight, my lord,” Catherine said as she glanced over to the two ladies in question.
“Indeed,” Lord Stanhope replied, his eyes still shifting back and forth between them clearly in the hopes of unveiling their secret plans. “Would you care to join us for a refreshment? I’m certain my sister would be overjoyed to see you again,” he suggested politely before a hint of sarcasm came to his voice. “After all, during the week you spent with us, the two of you were nearly inseparable.”
While Wesley graciously or at least as graciously as he could accepted his friend’s invitation, Catherine averted her eyes, a suppressed smile on her lips.
Following Lord Stanhope, they bid the ladies a good evening. While Eleanor seemed genuinely delighted, Lady Stanhope merely gave them a curd nod and mumbled something that could have been a greeting−however, Wesley was glad he hadn’t been listening too closely.
With a glance at Christine and William, who were just then speaking to Robert Dashwood and his new wife−Robert had been quite changed since the last time Wesley had seen him!−Wesley procured a glass of wine for Catherine before forcing his attention toward Lady Stanhope. Curse Christine and her ludicrous plans!
“This is truly a marvellous event,” he beamed, hoping his voice sounded genuine. “It reminds me of that New Year’s Ball at Stanhope Grove, was it three years ago?”
“Four,” Lady Stanhope offered, and from one second to the next, her sour expression slid off her face. “It truly was, wasn’t it?” she trilled, her eyes distant as she clutched her hands before her chest like a young girl. “I admit I have long since thought to host another such ball.”
“Oh, what a wonderful notion!” Wesley exclaimed enthusiastically, which earned him a confused look from his friend. However, all that mattered was that with Lady Stanhope’s attention diverted, Catherine could use the opportunity to steer Eleanor away…and into the arms of young Henry Waltham.
Trying to follow Lady Stanhope’s raptures about their legendary New Year’s Ball as well as her ideas for another equally impressive event, Wesley found his thoughts wandering to the one woman who was at the root of all of this.
Currently, Christine was twirling around the dance floor in his brother’s arms, and although Wesley knew better than anyone that neither one of them had any romantic intentions toward the other, he could not help but feel a tinge of displeasure. How much worse would he feel if Christine actually made good on her promise…or rather threat…and take a lover?
In that moment, Wesley felt certain he would die on the spot…or rather that he would kill the lucky man without thinking about it twice!
“Would you not agree?” Lady Stanhope asked, her eyes looking at him as she waited for an answer.
Wesley swallowed as he had no idea what the lady was talking about. However, her demeanour suggested that a favourable answer would be most agreeable to her, and so Wesley nodded his head vigorously. “Absolutely, my lady. There is no question.”
A satisfied smile came to Lady Stanhope’s face, and Wesley found himself relax before his eyes drifted across the room where Henry Waltham was just then leading Eleanor into the ballroom. “If you’ll excuse me?” he asked, then bowed to Lady Stanhope as well as his friend and quickly departed.
“Did everything go as planned?” he whispered to Catherine as he came to stand beside her, eyes following the young couple as they took their places on the dance floor beside Christine and William.
Catherine nodded. “I think she did notice that I was not…myself,” she whispered, an amused smile on her lips. “But her excitement overruled any suspicions she might have had. Are they not adorable?”
Lost in each other’s eyes, Eleanor and Henry floated on air across the dance floor, completely unaware of the world around them. “They remind me of you and William,” Wesley said with a smile.
Catherine drew in a steadying breath before she nodded her head. “I can only hope…”
“I know,” Wesley mumbled as he noticed his brother craning his neck, his eyes searching for something…or rather someone. Wesley chuckled. Most likely, for the woman by his side.
“I’m glad Christine made us do this,” Catherine said, her eyes shifting back and forth between the beaming couple and the man she loved. “I cannot imagine why her mother would oppose the match. Henry is a good man. He’s not like his brothers. And seeing your child happy should be more important than…anything.”
Drawing in a slow breath, Wesley nodded, bracing himself for what was to come. Then he offered Catherine his hand and led her into the ballroom.
Only a moment later, the dance ended and the music stopped, and under the mistletoe in the centre of the room stood Eleanor and Henry, eyes aglow with happiness while their cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Under the encouragement of the surrounding guests, Eleanor and Henry exchanged a quick kiss. Unfortunately, it was a far cry from the kind of kiss a couple in love would have dreamed of. However, it would have to do.
Once more offering Catherine his hand, Wesley led her onto the dance floor, and they stood up for a cotillion, William and Christine only two couples down from them.
“He’s staring at you,” Wesley whispered, trying his best to suppress the laughter that threatened.
Blushing slightly, Catherine glanced at her husband. “He is, isn’t he?” she whispered back. “I only wish I knew why.”
“Because he loves you,” Wesley replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice. If only they had all spoken their minds from the very beginning, none of this would have been necessary! Curse Christine and her ludicrous plans!
“Do you truly believe so?”
“I know so,” Wesley insisted for it was all b
ut written on his brother’s face.
When the dance ended, Wesley pulled Catherine’s hand through the crook of his arm and led her across the dance floor without delay. “Will,” he called, and his face split into a big grin. “I’ve come to trade.”
Rolling her eyes at him, Christine slapped him playfully on the arm, a spark of amusement in her eyes as she snapped, “What a crude remark! I certainly understand your mother’s relief that you’re not the first-born son.”
Putting a pained expression on his face, Wesley clutched his chest as though mortally injured. “You wound me, my lady.” Then he bowed to her. “May I have this dance, nonetheless?”
“You may,” Christine said graciously and took his hand, “although you do not deserve it.”
As he led her away, Wesley couldn’t help but laugh−although he tried to do it as inconspicuously as he possibly could.
“Would you care to enlighten me as to what brought on this rather inappropriate behaviour?” Christine asked with an air of mock indignation.
Grinning, Wesley pulled her close as the orchestra began to play the first notes of a waltz. “You should’ve been an actress,” he whispered as his thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand, “for you’re truly amazing.”
Holding his gaze, she took a slow breath, all amusement leaving her face. “Is that a compliment?”
“Nothing but,” he assured her.
Uncharacteristically touched, Christine nodded before her eyes left his and she gazed over his shoulder. “Do you think it will work?”
In no doubt whatsoever with regard to whom she was referring to, Wesley nodded. “Did you forget that it was your plan?”
“Even the best plans can fail,” she conceded, a rather sheepish grin on her face, “…sometimes.”
“He loves her,” Wesley said, holding her gaze. “Even a blind man could see it.”
“I know.” A soft smile came to her lips. “Thank you for your help. Eleanor looked truly happy when Henry led her onto the dance floor. As did he.”
“You’re welcome,” Wesley said, and his hands tightened on her.