Elizabeth looked up at David. “I just cannot credit it. I am the one with the delicate constitution. I shall be vexed to no end with worry for my little sister.”
Elizabeth began to assist David with helping Cathy don her pelisse and heavy woolen cloak, then met David's gaze. “I have neglected to tell you, Captain, how appreciative I am of your accompaniment.”
His black eyes shimmered as he gazed affectionately at her. “It is I who should be thanking you—as should everyone in that chamber—for singing so beautifully for all of us.”
“Indeed,” Lord Neely added as he strolled up to Elizabeth as the servant was bringing her cloak. The viscount took it and draped it over Elizabeth's milky bare shoulders. “You sing like an angel.”
She thanked him, curtseying. “Will we see you at the Christmas Eve Assembly?”
“I daresay I shall see you before that. Will you do me the goodness of allowing me to call on you?”
Her gaze skipped from him, to David, then back to him. “I adore having callers.”
During the jostling carriage ride home, Cathy felt even sicker. She refrained from engaging her sister in conversation but listened to her prattle on about how delightful was Lord Neely, how handsome was David.
Prattling along as rapidly as Elizabeth, Aunt Kate was over the moon, singing the praises of the young, bachelor viscount.
Nothing in Elizabeth's responses, though, provided any enlightenment about her preference between the two men.
If Elizabeth should be in love with David, Cathy knew she would have to step aside and bless the union. She loved both of them most dearly.
Why had it never occurred to her that Elizabeth, too, could be in love with the irresistibly handsome Captain David St. Vincent? She supposed Aunt Kate had done a thorough job all these years of convincing her that Elizabeth would wed a title.
But surely no one could prefer the dandyish Lord Neely over the supremely masculine Captain David St. Vincent.
When they reached Stoneyway, Cathy went straight to the bedchamber she shared with her sister—and Fluffs, who always slept with Cathy. Elizabeth made a great fuss over her. She personally stoked the fire, and she took one of the blankets off her bed to spread over Cathy, who was now shivering. “Oh, my dearest,” she murmured sweetly, “I shall be prostrate if my little lamb of a sister is not completely well come morning.”
It was at times like this Cathy recalled her childhood, when Elizabeth had always been her staunchest champion. In recent years, their rolls had rather reversed, owing to Elizabeth's dependent personality—and Cathy's greater maturity.
When Elizabeth's tenderness shone through as it did tonight, Cathy knew she would do anything in her power to see to it her sister married the man of her dreams.
Even if that man were David.
* * *
Faint sunlight filtered into her bedchamber the following morning. Even though the fire had died, she was warm beneath a mountain of blankets. And she felt good.
Until she clearly recalled that her sister might also be in love with the man she loved. Then, with a woefully sinking feeling returning to the pit of her stomach, she recalled, too, that David's mother must be privy to the information that her son wished to settle down with the beautiful Balfour sister.
Cathy could not allow herself to continue lying in bed, dwelling on her melancholy thoughts. Especially not when Mrs. Williamson might need her. She left her bed and quickly threw the woolen cloak about her to protect her from the room's chill as she hurried to the window and fully opened the curtains. A smile crossed her face. The sporadic snow had stopped, and the sun was straining to gain strength in the eastern sky. She would go to Mrs. Williamson's.
How low it made her to think that she could have ridden to Mrs. Williamson's in a warm carriage with the dashing captain. Except she could not. Not if Elizabeth loved him. Not if he were in love with Elizabeth.
As she stood there on the cold stone floors peering out the frosty window, Elizabeth brought her a cup of hot tea. “I heard you stirring, love. How are you feeling this morning?”
Cathy turned to gaze at the sister who had spoken so tenderly to her. Elizabeth was fully dressed—to Cathy's surprise in a warm, woolen frock of deep green. “I am back to normal. Thank you for the tea.”
“Why do you not climb back into bed? You must be freezing in your bare feet.”
Cathy shook her head. “I hope to be on the road by the time the sun is fully up.”
“You cannot be serious! You're planning to walk all that way to the Williamson cottage?”
“I am.”
“My dear sister, are you aware that it is winter? And this happens to be one of the coldest days of the year?”
Cathy giggled. “I am aware.”
“I don't think Papa will approve.”
“Papa will approve. It's exactly the kind of thing Mama would have done, and you know Papa thinks Mama was completely without fault.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I haven't worried so about you since you were a girl.”
“Because I've developed into a competent, pragmatic woman who does not do foolish things.” Except for falling in love with a man who was probably in love with her sister.
“In most respects, that is true. But I cannot say my competent sister never does foolish things when she insists upon sacrificing her own good health in service to others.”
Cathy was unbelievably moved by her sister's concern. “Don't worry so. I'm leaving early in the day so I can return well before the late afternoon chill bears down on us.”
“It's a pity we have no carriage.”
“Not having ever had one, it's not something I miss.” She found herself wondering if David's newly found fortune would extend to the purchase of a carriage. What was it to her? He was sure to declare himself to the loveliest girl in all the shire.
* * *
David did not like it at all. Lord Neely was besotted over the woman David had loved most of his life. Because he had neither declared himself nor had any understanding with the young lady, David could hardly have objected when his lordship insisted on paying a call at Stoneyway.
His brother and sister-in-law had begged off that afternoon. He appreciated that they did so to allow room in the sleigh for the bachelors to take the Balfour sisters on a sleigh ride.
During many a broiling day in the West Indies, he had imagined himself galloping through the snow with the beautiful Miss Balfour beside him.
The notion of bundling beneath a rug with Miss Elizabeth Balfour as they sped across the snow held great appeal, but he would rather not go at all than to see her seated beside the viscount.
It was a pity that being in love could make a perfectly rational man take a dislike to another man he had previously found to be amiable.
Save for his new-found obsession over Elizabeth Balfour, Lord Neely was a man David admired. He neither flaunted his aristocratic lineage nor boasted on his vast land holdings. He was kindly, generous, and intelligent. He was dashed good at whist—and an even better a shot than David, who was acknowledged to be uncommonly skilled with a musket.
As they raced across the icy fields, Lord Neely at the ribbons, David had to begrudgingly credit the viscount with being a notable whip.
Were it not for Elizabeth Balfour—who had admitted she wished to marry a titled gentleman—David would have been proud to count the viscount as his friend.
“It's a pity for Miss Balfour she's hidden away in Cumbria,” Lord Neely said. “Were she to have a Season in Town, I daresay she would outshine every lady in London.”
“You refer, then, to Miss Elizabeth Balfour?” David knew very well the viscount was speaking of the prettier sister. His arms folded stiffly across his chest, his mouth clamped into a firm line, David stared ahead at the powdery white snow that carpeted this countryside he loved so thoroughly.
“Yes, of course. I say, St. Vincent, is there an understanding between you and Miss Catherine Balfour?”
Cathy? “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”
The viscount shrugged. “It just seemed to me the girl was excessively fond of you, and I thought you might feel the same.”
“She's little more than a child! Of course I hold her in great affection since I've known her since she was born, but it's an altogether different affection than. . . “ He almost said than I feel for Elizabeth. “Than I would feel for one with whom I had an understanding.”
He wanted to warn Lord Neely away from Elizabeth. All he had to say was that he planned to ask for her hand, and as a gentleman, Lord Neely would back away. But David was incapable of sharing something so intimate with another man.
He had no assurances Elizabeth would even accept his suit. And what if she had fallen for the viscount? As difficult as it would be, he wanted her to have a clear choice between the two men. And he wanted her to be happy.
If he was going to spend the rest of his life with one woman, it must be with a woman who wanted to spend the rest of her life with him—and no other.
Once they arrived at Stoneyway, Elizabeth and her aunt joined them in the drawing room. It was the first time she had not worn a dress that displayed her creamy shoulders and the sweet way her breasts separated just above the bodice. It was actually the first time he had seen her dress sensibly. Like Cathy.
It struck him that the sister who was three years younger was by far the more mature. “Where is Miss Catherine?” he asked.
Elizabeth elegantly lowered herself onto the sofa, rolling her eyes. “My sister insisted on visiting that poor Williamson widow.”
It was far too cold for a lone girl to go off on foot like that! “Then I trust she has recovered fully from last night's indisposition?”
“Apparently so.” Elizabeth turned to address Lord Neely. “How did you find today's weather, my lord?”
“It's cold, but if one is properly covered, it's pleasant enough. We came in the sleigh.”
Her eyes shimmered. “That sounds delightful.”
David tried to determine if she was attracted to the viscount. The way she smiled at him was full of affection, but it was the same when she smiled at David.
“Perhaps when your sister returns we could take a sleigh ride,” Lord Neely said.
“I should like that ever so much.”
“When do you expect your sister to return?” the viscount asked.
“One never knows. She could be back very soon, but if the widow is low, Cathy won't leave until she cheers her.” She shrugged. “I don't know how Cathy can stand to go to that dingy little cottage! I would be afraid to sit down there.”
David eyed Lord Neely. “The woman's husband was a coal miner.” He did wish Elizabeth was. . . more like Cathy.
His lordship nodded. “Oh, I expect there's coal dust everywhere.”
“I expect it's the devil to get out of the upholstered furniture,” David said in defense of a woman he'd never met.
Elizabeth scrunched up her perfect nose. “Indeed. I, for one, will never set foot inside that cottage again.”
So, David thought, Cathy was not only the more mature sister, she was the more charitable. He looked to the aunt to see if she would chastise Elizabeth, but the woman merely cast an adoring glance at her niece.
“Changing the conversation to a happier topic,” Lord Neely said, “tomorrow's Christmas Eve.”
“I cannot wait for the assembly!” Elizabeth eyed the viscount. “I cannot tell you, my lord, how honored our community will be to have you attend.”
“The honor is mine, Miss Balfour. Would I be presumptuous if I asked permission to lead you out for the first dance?”
Who did he think he was, waltzing in here and claiming the prettiest girl in the entire shire? David felt like poking him in the eye.
Her lashes did that fluttering thing that made men's heartbeats accelerate. “I should be exceedingly honored, my lord.”
“It's I who am honored, Miss Balfour. Allow me to say how happy I am that I chose to spend Christmas with my old friend Michael St. Vincent.”
David's gaze swept again to the girls' aunt. She sat there with her sewing, looking for all the world like she'd just been crowned queen. If she were a man, David would like to poke her in the eye, too, for filling her niece's head with dreams of marrying a title.
Elizabeth sighed! David could not recall her ever sighing when he spoke to her. “Do you believe in fate, my lord?” she asked, looking dreamily at him.
“Before yesterday I would have said no.”
The audacity! They were carrying on a flirtation right in front of him. “I will own,” David said, “I thought it must be ordained by fate that when I returned from a six-year absence I found Miss Balfour still remained unmarried.” Good Lord! What was he doing? It sounded suspiciously as if he were declaring himself.
“I assure you,” the spinster aunt said, glaring at David, “my niece has had many opportunities to wed, but she was saving herself for someone more grand than is generally found in Ramseyfield.” Miss Kate Balfour cast an affectionate glance at Lord Neely.
But Miss Elizabeth Balfour bestowed a stupendous smile upon David. “You will surely turn my head, Captain! I declare, it's fate, too, that despite all the dangers that surrounded you, you survived that awful war and have now come home to us.”
In that instant, David forgot that she'd been flirting with Lord Neely. At that instant, he felt as if the beautiful Elizabeth Balfour had just declared her love to him.
Miss Balfour, the viscount, and the aunt continued to converse, but he couldn't have repeated a word they said. Only the words she'd just spoken to him, the way she had gazed so adoringly at him dominated his thoughts.
Then he recalled how she had also spoken so sweetly to Lord Neely. And was it not to Lord Neely that she had first tossed out her allusion to fate? How could one young woman feel so connected by fate to two gentlemen? Was it possible for a woman to be in love with two men?
He felt like a bird shot in flight. A woman could only marry one man. And David wanted to be assured the woman he married was in love with only him.
The front door to Stoneyway burst open, and since the door that separated the drawing room from the entry hall was open, he saw Cathy.
And he leapt to his feet. “What in the blazes has happened to you?”
Chapter 5
Miss Catherine Balfour could not believe one more piece of misfortune had been heaped upon her. The one day the door to the drawing was left open just happened to be when a pair of gentlemen callers—including THE only one she could ever care to impress—had to be witness to her bedraggled self limping into Stoneyway's entry hall looking for all the world as if a steady stream of mud had rained down upon her.
Which wasn't far from the truth of what had occurred.
When she had seen the sleigh in front of Stoneyway, she had instinctively known it would be David, and she had given serious consideration to hiding herself from view until he left. But she was absurdly uncomfortable. And cold. And miserable. She, therefore, convinced herself the drawing room door would be shut as it usually was when they had visitors, which would allow her to quietly enter the house and steal up the stairs without being seen.
How mortified she had been after she entered the house and her gaze swung to the drawing room—and to David's shocked expression.
“Cathy!” He bolted toward the stairway she was attempting to climb. “What's happened to you?”
Elizabeth followed on his heels. Her sister's cries succeeded in prying Mr. Balfour from his library. “Whatever has happened to my daughter?”
It was her father's pitying gaze that dropped Cathy to her mud-encrusted knees, hiding her weeping face in her cupped hands. How could she tell them how foolish she'd been? The always-pragmatic Catherine Balfour had been so despondent by the realization that the man she loved was probably going to marry her sister that she had been completely oblivious to where she was walking after she left Mrs. Williamson's. Sh
e did not see the drop-off of the lane upon which she was traveling. The drop-off went straight into a ravine that was scored with hawthorn bushes and which had been disturbed by burrowing badgers, who'd dug beneath the snow to expose wet, black dirt.
Lacerations from the hawthorn branches were the least of her woes. Every garment upon her bruised body was torn, wet, and muddy. Though she could not see it, she knew her face, too, was likely black—and bloody.
“Pray, it is nothing,” she managed between sobs.
“It most certainly is something,” her father bellowed. “I demand that you tell me what happened.”
By this time, Elizabeth had returned with a wet cloth and set about to gently remove the blood and mud from her sister's face—a face Cathy insisted on turning away from the eyes of the three men who gawked at her. “Mrs. Greenhampton is heating water for you a bath,” Elizabeth murmured.
“I wasn't watching where I was going, and I fell into the ravine that runs behind the Minton cottage.” Cathy fully expected the gentlemen callers to laugh at her foolishness. If not at her appearance.
Neither did.
“Pray, love,” Elizabeth asked, “have you broken anything?”
Cathy shook her head, still not desiring to meet David's gaze, praying he wouldn't see how terrible she looked but knowing he did. “I assure you, I am unhurt.”
“Why is she bleeding?” Mr. Balfour asked.
David came to settle on the lowest step. Through a slender gap between the fingers which covered her humiliated face, she saw that he looked up at her with concern, though all she could think of was how horrid she looked. “I perceive that you must have met resistance from a shrub of some sort.” His voice was incredibly gentle.
She sniffed. And nodded. “Indeed.”
“Allow me to examine the wounds,” he said. “I've had some experience with this sort of thing.”
There was no way she was going to allow him the opportunity to further observe her in the state she was in. Especially when her perfectly perfect looking sister was right next to her. She shook her head adamantly and attempted to regain the stridency to her voice. But she still would not look at him. “I assure you, most of the bruising has been to my pride.”
Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas) Page 12