Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical)

by Allen, Louise

  He regarded her keenly. ‘Why should they do so?’

  ‘For fear of upsetting me, perhaps. John especially. Childhood is short enough. It ought to be a happy, carefree time.’

  ‘We have no control over circumstances. At least your children are fortunate in having a mother who cares for them.’

  ‘They give my life meaning.’

  He analysed that with considerable interest. It tended to support his former thought that her marriage might not have been so happy after all.

  ‘I can well imagine that children would add an entirely new dimension to life, although I have no experience in that respect. My own is skewed the other way.’

  ‘I remember. Your own mother died when you were ten.’ She paused. ‘Your father sent you away to school soon afterwards.’

  Max was very still. ‘Your memory is good.’

  ‘For some things,’ she replied.

  Hearing the echo of his former words he experienced a surge of confused emotions. He would have liked to pursue that remark, but he didn’t dare. It was inevitable that she should remember things from the past. He just hadn’t been expecting that particular detail. It was a painful time that he preferred not to dwell on; something he’d never discussed with anyone else. But then he’d found it easy to tell her such things. For some reason that one had stayed in her mind. It didn’t mean anything.

  Vivien turned away from the window. ‘It’s growing late. I must go and get ready for dinner.’

  He wanted to stop her but knew he could not. ‘Of course.’

  His gaze followed her all the way to the door. When it closed behind her he turned back to the window and the darkening landscape beyond. This time, however, he saw nothing, conscious only of roiling emotion and deeper mental confusion. It was pointless to pretend that he wasn’t still attracted to her. She drew him like a moth to flame. But it was more than that; it had always been more than that, only he didn’t know his own heart until it was too late. Take me with you, Max. His stomach knotted. He’d been such a damned fool. Seeing her again had only reinforced that knowledge.

  Yet, in spite of his best efforts to suppress it, their conversation had also kindled a tiny flicker of hope. He was too experienced not to realise that she wasn’t entirely indifferent to him, but, quite understandably, she didn’t trust him either. Could he ever change that? Could he somehow earn her forgiveness? After the way he’d behaved it was a desperately long shot. On the other hand they’d already lost ten years and if he didn’t seize this chance he’d have to face another four decades without her. The thought was more chilling than the snowbound landscape.

  Chapter Six

  Vivien surveyed the gown in an agony of indecision. Since putting off deep mourning she had worn the various shades of lilac and mauve that society considered suitable for early widowhood. Her grief for Hugh had been of short duration but, perhaps for that very reason, she had allowed the muted colours to become a habit. Guilt manifested itself in strange ways. Now she recognised it for what it was; a habit she wanted to break. The invitation to Oakhurst had pointed that up very clearly. It made her realise that she wanted to put her former marriage behind her once and for all and move on with her life. It was why she had packed several of her other dresses for this occasion. Although she couldn’t have said precisely why, Max’s presence had only reinforced the original thought. Putting off muted colours was a clear signal of intent and, for all that she was ready to do it, the notion still filled her with trepidation. At the same time a small gathering like this provided the ideal opportunity. She needed to stop dithering.

  ‘I’ll wear the yellow gown this evening, Hewson.’

  The maid was one of Eleanor’s household and far too well trained to reveal the least surprise. She merely bobbed a curtsy and went to fetch the required garment. Vivien put it on and then surveyed herself in the mirror. The dress was one of her favourites and, despite being almost two years old, it didn’t look too far out of fashion.

  ‘What jewellery would you like, my lady?’

  ‘The gold necklace and earrings, I think.’

  As Vivien put them on the maid smiled. ‘They look well with that gown, my lady.’ She paused. ‘Which shawl would you like?’

  ‘The blue and gold.’

  Within the space of a few minutes she was ready. She thanked the maid and then, summoning her courage, went to see if Aunt Winifred was ready. The older woman had evidently been coming to find her because they met in the corridor. She stopped in her tracks, surveying her niece in astonishment.

  ‘Vivien, my goodness.’

  ‘What do you think of the gown?’

  ‘It’s very pretty but...well, is it entirely appropriate, my dear? After all, your husband...’

  ‘Has been dead these eighteen months. I have more than met my social obligations there.’

  ‘I did not mean to criticise.’

  ‘I know, and I don’t mean to shock. However, I do mean to get on with my life.’

  ‘I see.’ Aunt Winifred swallowed nervously. ‘It’s your decision of course.’

  ‘It’s more than time, Aunt.’

  ‘If you feel it to be so, my dear, then I expect you are right.’

  She said no more and they went down together. For all her bold words Vivien began to feel distinctly nervous as they neared the drawing room. She knew her appearance was going to cause a stir, even if the reaction was never openly expressed. She also knew that there was only one person whose opinion really mattered now. However, as she entered the room there was no sign of Max. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  Eleanor greeted her with an appraising smile. ‘You look lovely.’ Then, bending a little closer so that only the two of them could hear, she added, ‘Well done.’

  Vivien gave her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze in acknowledgement. Then Annabel appeared beside them.

  ‘What a pretty colour, Lady Hastings. It suits you well.’

  Vivien thanked her and felt some of her earlier tension fade. Their quiet support was a great morale booster. Sir Digby’s look of warm approbation was unmistakable too, if not so welcome.

  ‘You shine like the sun, my lady.’

  She assumed a polite smile. ‘You are too kind, sir.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Not as kind as I should like to be.’

  To her annoyance she felt herself blush. His smile widened. She was spared the necessity of a reply as his sister joined them. Her gaze swept Vivien from head to toe and was followed by a knowing smile.

  ‘Why, Lady Hastings, how very charming you look this evening. You always do of course, but particularly so now.’

  ‘That’s well said,’ replied her brother. ‘It’s exactly what I was thinking.’

  ‘Naturally. Your taste has always been excellent.’

  ‘Thank you, Cynthia. I flatter myself it is.’

  The two exchanged brief knowing glances. Cynthia smiled. ‘It’s the reason Digby never married, Lady Hastings. He never found anyone who came up to his very exacting standards.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said Vivien.

  ‘Never until now,’ said Sir Digby.

  Fortunately for Vivien’s composure Eleanor returned.

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt but I need to borrow Lady Hastings for a while. Would you excuse us?’

  As they walked away Vivien regarded her friend gratefully. ‘Thank you. That was becoming rather awkward.’

  ‘A pincer movement?’

  ‘It was beginning to feel like it.’

  Eleanor grinned. ‘I think that your choice of gown has provided your would-be suitor with encouragement.’

  ‘It was never intended thus, but I fear you may be right.’

  ‘You won’t be able to hold him off for very much longer.’ Eleanor glanced up and smiled. ‘Ah, Mr Calderwood, good evening.’

  Vivien’s heart missed a beat. Evening dress might have been invented for Max, accentuating every line of his powerful frame
to perfection. He always had a certain presence but the austere costume enhanced that dramatically. The man she had formerly considered handsome now seemed positively dangerous.

  He made a polite bow and smiled. ‘Good evening, Lady Dawlish. Lady Hastings.’

  ‘I am hoping that we shall have some music later,’ said Eleanor. ‘Do you sing, Mr Calderwood?’

  ‘I can hold a tune, ma’am.’

  ‘Good, then perhaps I can prevail upon you to take part.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘I’m much obliged to you, sir.’

  As Eleanor left them Vivien regarded Max in surprise. ‘I did not know you could sing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t wish to excite your anticipation.’

  ‘Too late. You already have.’

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Not in the least,’ she replied.

  Max grinned. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that I’m registering the rise of the phoenix, my lady.’

  The accompanying expression was enigmatic, although it was impossible to miss the gleam in his eyes.

  ‘The widow from the ashes?’

  ‘Too doleful by far. Say rather, a golden goddess.’

  ‘Pure hyperbole.’

  ‘On the contrary.’

  She regarded him askance. ‘I never had you down as a flatterer, Max.’

  His name had tripped off her tongue before she was even aware, and it could not be withdrawn. Her cheeks grew a little warmer, not least because she didn’t want to withdraw it.

  Max’s gaze locked with hers. ‘I was never more serious in my life.’

  Vivien was trying to assimilate that when the gong sounded for dinner. Since they were not seated together it was impossible to continue the conversation just then, a circumstance that filled her with mixed emotions. Their light banter had been so much like old times that it was as if the intervening years had just rolled away. Her throat tightened. If only... She glanced across the table. Max was sitting next to Cynthia, apparently listening attentively to something she was saying. Then they both laughed softly.

  ‘My sister and Mr Calderwood seem to get along famously, do they not?’

  As Sir Digby’s voice recalled her, Vivien forced a smile. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘I wonder if we’re looking at the beginning of a romance.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They make a handsome couple, do they not?’

  ‘As you say.’

  ‘Of course, it’s early days yet but the signs are promising.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘Trust me. I have a good nose for such things.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he keep his nose out of other people’s business, but she stopped the words there. With a sense of surprise she wondered at her own ill humour. It was uncharitable, and not at all in keeping with the jocular vein intended. All the same the thought that he might be right was an uncomfortable one.

  * * *

  Later, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, she caught herself watching for any indication of preference in Max’s behaviour. However, she could not detect any; he spoke to all the ladies with the same quiet courtesy. Of course, it might be natural discretion. It was often hard to know what Max was thinking. Anyway, it was really none of her concern.

  Across the room Annabel sat down at the pianoforte. She was joined there by Charles, Andrew and Max. Vivien listened intently as they began to sing. She soon realised that Max could do a lot more than merely hold a tune; his voice was a rich baritone, blending effortlessly with the others and filling the room with fluid sound. It was a revelation. When they’d been together in the past it was always at balls and parties and concerts. The occasion had never arisen then where he would be invited to sing. She began to wonder how many other things she didn’t know about him and her curiosity was thoroughly roused.

  When the song ended she joined in the general applause. The trio sang twice more and then Eleanor and Mary took their places. While they sorted through the music the gentlemen strolled away to mingle with the rest of the company. Max casually disposed himself in the chair beside Vivien’s.

  ‘Are you enjoying your evening, my lady?’

  ‘Very much,’ she replied. ‘And I have to say that you have a fine voice.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where did you learn to sing so well?’

  ‘My mother was very fond of music. Hers was the earliest influence; then the choir master at school.’

  ‘I could more easily imagine you playing cricket.’

  ‘I did that too.’

  ‘And did it just as well, I imagine.’

  ‘Well enough to gain admittance to the sporting fraternity.’

  ‘I’m sure you were a star in their firmament.’

  He laughed. ‘Hardly that; just convincing enough to stay on the team.’

  ‘You were an academic genius perhaps?’

  ‘Again, I’m sorry to disillusion you. I worked at those subjects that interested me and scraped by in the rest.’

  ‘It sounds remarkably familiar.’

  ‘Ah, your own children I take it.’

  ‘John, anyway. Rachel is more diligent.’

  ‘Do you have a school in mind for your son?’

  ‘Hugh was set on Eton.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘John is only eight. I’m reluctant to lose him just yet.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘So I think. Besides—’ She broke off, suddenly aware that she had been about to mention the financial constraints involved. That was the trouble with talking to Max. It was easy to say too much.

  ‘Besides?’ he prompted.

  ‘Nothing. As you said, there’s plenty of time.’

  He suspected it was something but he let it pass, unwilling to force her confidence. All the same, he was curious to know what she’d been about to say. There were a great many things he wanted to know. Moreover, he hadn’t missed the fleeting expression of worry in her eyes as she spoke. It made her seem vulnerable and aroused his protective instincts. The world was a hard place, especially for a woman alone.

  ‘Has your aunt always lived with you?’

  ‘Not until after Hugh’s death. My family are sticklers for propriety. In their eyes it is improper for a woman to live alone, even if she is a widow with two children. Besides, my sister-in-law had been looking for an excuse to get Aunt Winifred off her hands for a while.’

  ‘And how did you feel about that?’

  ‘It didn’t matter how I felt.’

  Max experienced both anger and indignation. He could well imagine such a degree of interference from her family, all done in the guise of helpfulness, of course.

  ‘As it happens I am fond of Aunt Winifred,’ Vivien went on. ‘She is a kindly soul and her companionship has not been unwelcome.’

  He glimpsed the loneliness behind that statement. He’d like to have pursued it, but, unwilling to pry, sought safer ground instead.

  ‘How did you come to know Lady Dawlish?’ he asked.

  ‘Eleanor is a neighbour. We met shortly after Hugh and I married. We have been friends ever since.’

  ‘You live quite close then?’

  ‘Hastings House is only six miles from here.’

  ‘I imagine you have a large circle of friends.’

  ‘I know quite a lot of people, although we did not go out a great deal. Hugh preferred to be at home.’

  ‘And yet I seem to recall that you enjoyed parties.’

  ‘I did. I mean, I do, but after we married there were not so many. Hugh was a lot older than me and I suppose he had got such things out of his system.’

  Max digested this with considerable interest, hearing the silences between the words. Her husband sounded like a very dull dog, though it would be impolitic to say so.

  ‘I suppose marriage is always a big adjustment,’ she went on.

  ‘No
doubt. However, I have no experience to compare with your own.’

  ‘You were married to your work, I collect.’

  ‘Yes, you could put it like that,’ he said.

  ‘And now you are back to stay. How will you pass your time?’

  ‘I shall buy a small estate and work to improve it.’

  ‘Of course. You mentioned a property before.’

  ‘It’s time to settle down. Travel has its advantages but I’ve had my fill of it. I intend to marry and raise a family.’

  Her heart sank. ‘Oh. Well, in that case I wish you good fortune.’

  ‘Thank you. I was hoping you’d approve of my plans.’

  ‘How could I not approve?’

  ‘And yet I was not always good husband material, was I?’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘People change with time. We all learn from the past.’

  ‘So we do, and avoid making the same mistakes again.’

  ‘Yes.’ Suddenly the magnitude of her mistakes was overwhelming. ‘At least we can do that.’

  Chapter Seven

  The conversation remained with her afterwards and sleep was a long time coming that night. She might be able to act a part for the benefit of others but it was impossible to pretend to herself that she had no feelings for Max. If anything they had only strengthened with time. The knowledge that he intended to marry intensified the sensations of loneliness and loss. Along with it was an ache in the core of her being. Hugh had never made her feel like that; his nearness had never excited her, his touch never kindled desire. He had been considerate in the marriage bed, but his love-making was always lacking somehow, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Was it the same with all married couples? For a moment her imagination substituted Max for Hugh, so that it was his body pressed to hers, his hands on her naked flesh. The result was sudden flaring warmth in the region of her pelvis. She shut her eyes and tried to banish the thought but it wasn’t so easily commanded to leave. Nor was it any use to tell herself that it was foolish beyond permission. The illusion was too powerful. It seemed as though heartache hadn’t finished with her yet.