“The ballroom looks beautiful,” one of the maids said.
She smiled. “I think I’ll make some snowflakes to join them. Is there paper?”
The housekeeper nodded. “I have some in the pantry. How many do you need?”
“As many as I can have for you to have sufficient paper until you can order more.”
“Then you must be quite fond of snowflakes.” The housekeeper smiled.
“I am.” She formed snowflakes with the paper, remembering going skating with Wolfe and how actual real life snowflakes had fallen over them and had led them to the cottage and had led them to so much more. It was a good memory, the very best memory she could have.
Then she could go to Cornwall and then she could say that for a few days at least she’d lived in bliss. Perhaps not everyone could say that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wolfe had seen Flora leave dozens of times before. But this time was different. This time it meant everything had changed.
“Your visitors arrived last night,” Hamish said. “Lord Pierce and Mr. Warne.”
“Good, I’m glad,” Wolfe said. “Have they been good guests so far?”
“I think they’re still traumatized from the carriage journey. Not that they would admit it.”
Wolfe chuckled.
“They mentioned going into town tomorrow though. I thought I wouldn’t drag them here for breakfast.”
“Ah. I’m glad. I want the ball to be when they first see McIntyre Manor.”
“When it is at its very finest?” Hamish asked. “Callum mentioned you are trying to matchmake Isla. You’re a good brother.”
“I try to be. I thought I would give her some options.”
“Are you certain she desires to marry?”
Wolfe laughed. Of course Isla wanted to marry. That was obvious. What woman didn’t want to marry? The whole season was filled with women utterly desiring of marrying. He knew. He saw how desirous they were to dance with him, despite his reputation.
“You’ve grown quite amusing since you married,” Wolfe said.
“I wasn’t trying to make a joke,” Hamish grumbled.
“Ah, there’s that serious nature again. I think I’ll be spending more time here,” Wolfe confessed.
“Truly?” Hamish’s eyebrows rose. “When you have Hades’ Lair? I thought that was going well.”
“It is going well,” Wolfe said. “That doesn’t mean I desire to stay there.”
Hamish gave him a strange look.
“What is it?”
“This region is isolated. Are you certain you would be happy?”
“I would be,” Wolfe said.
“Hmph.”
“I suppose it’s an age thing,” Hamish mused. “What you require, Lord McIntyre, is a wife. Were you aware that Lord Pierce is in possession of a sister?”
“I was not.”
“Well, he is in fact,” Hamish said. “Apparently she’s debuting this season. You can snatch her up in January.”
Wolfe shifted his legs over the floor. “I have no desire to be saddled with some eighteen year old bride.”
“Come now. Lord Pierce’s sister has been schooled in the finest finishing schools. She will make a most excellent countess. I’m not simply saying that because Lord Pierce lets me win when we play whist together.”
“I don’t know,” Wolfe said.
“Apparently she is in possession of Lord Pierce’s blond hair, and I remember you remarking at one point that you were partial to the fairer strands of the hair spectrum.
“I’ve changed my hair. I prefer brown hair.”
“Well, as someone with brown hair, I am glad your tastes have matured, though I imagine Lord Pierce’s sister has other fine attributes not relating to her hair color as well. On the other hand, there are bound to be other debutantes who meet your new hair preferences more completely.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone in the season,” Wolfe confessed.
“Suit yourself. But you might be happier with someone. I certainly am.”
“I agree,” Wolfe said. “I don’t believe Miss Pierce is the woman for me.”
“Her father is an earl, so actually her name is Lady Isabella.”
“Lady Isabella then. I don’t believe Lady Isabella is the woman for me.”
“Well. Isla has been spending time with Admiral Fitzroy’s wife, which reminds me that Admiral Fitzroy has a niece. Lady Theodosia. I think she might be suitable. She is a bit silly, but she does like poetry, which must show some sign of intelligence.”
“One would hope so,” Wolfe said. “The thing is I may have already met the right person.”
“Indeed?” There was an odd glimmer in Hamish’s eyes. “That’s good. That’s the hardest part.”
Wolfe tried to smile, but he couldn’t. Perhaps normally meeting someone was the most important part, but this was different. He was an earl. Didn’t he have some responsibilities? He couldn’t really just run off with a former maid of all service.
He would be starting a married life with scandal. His children would be born into that same scandal. It was really not the McIntyre way. At all. The McIntyre way was all about sacrifice. He’d been told that many times. Sacrifice even when everything was difficult.
His father had been stern, and he hadn’t been nice, and perhaps he’d been quite bad. Callum was convinced his father had acted truly malevolently against Callum’s aunt, though at this point no evidence existed. Besides, he did know his father had acted with the interests of the family in mind. Could Wolfe ignore all that sacrifice? Love matches were things for villagers, for people who did not have to think about families, who did not have to think about how a match might affect business interests. And yet, with all his heart he adored her. The thought of all that logic couldn’t sway him from the belief that the best thing for him, the best thing for her, would be to marry.
He sighed. “Can I speak to you in confidence?”
Hamish raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were closer with my brother.”
“You have the reputation for being more sensible.”
“That is true. It’s because of my massive intelligence. Did I mention that I received a new commission?”
At any other time Wolfe would have rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing that badly either.”
Hamish shrugged. “Perhaps. Now what is it.”
“There’s this woman. She’s divine. Like the sun.”
“Though I imagine her hair is more dark?”
“Yes.”
“I gathered that,” Hamish said lightly. “Comes with my massive intelligence.”
“So there is this dark-haired woman who is utterly beguiling.”
“Quite. Though it’s not her appearance that draws me to her.”
“I imagine that’s part of it.”
Wolfe nodded. “Yes, that’s part of it. But none of this would have happened if it had just been her appearance.”
He’d seen pretty maids before, but he’d never desired them. They’d blended into his space, like a nicely formed sconce or sideboard. Something he noticed on occasion, appreciated, but hardly dwelled on.
Devil it, he did dwell on Flora. She was everything.
“If she is so wonderful, what exactly is the issue with her?” Hamish asked.
“There’s no issue with her.”
“Well, then, why don’t you grab your mother’s ring from her jewelry collection, run after her, and propose?”
“Just like that?”
“Why not?” Hamish asked.
“What if we’ve only really known each other a few weeks?”
Hamish snorted. “That’s more time than I’d known my wife. before we married. And trust me, we are exceedingly happy.”
“You have changed.”
“You don’t need to meet someone over dozens of balls, have two dances with them each time, and then call on them in the presence of their mothers and any aunts to know whether one wants to marry them or no
t.” Hamish tilted his head. “Now tell me. Are we talking about your affection for your Christmas consultant?”
Wolfe swallowed hard. “How did you know?”
“She has dark hair and, though my heart is forever my wife’s, I can see there is a certain symmetry in her face that you may deem appealing, but I’ve never seen two people make more effort at not looking at each other.”
“Do you think anyone else noticed?”
“No. I only just put it together, and—”
“—you have a massive intelligence.”
“Oh, now you’re teasing me.”
Wolfe smiled.
“Since she does work for you I would be more cautious. She should not feel compelled to accept any offer you might give her.”
Wolfe swallowed hard. “Her last day is at the Christmas ball.”
“Well. That makes it simple. You don’t have long to wait. You can propose after the ball.”
“Oh.” Wolfe blinked. He’d thought Hamish would be more disapproving. The man had done his best to stop his brother’s match, when he’d deemed him to be making an inappropriate marriage.
“Just so she knows she has the option to get into a carriage and leave. The position really ends after the Christmas ball?”
Wolfe nodded. “Yes. She has a position in Cornwall that begins in January.”
“Then she can decide how ideal the position in Cornwall is. That’s simply my advice.”
“It’s good advice,” Wolfe said.
He resisted his urge to bound down the stairs and go after her, and say that spending his days with his friends did not surpass spending his time with her. Besides, this day had been about his sister Isla. He mustn’t forget that. It would do no good causing a scandal beforehand, and Isla had made her opinions on Flora quite clear. Even though they’d been friends at one point, Isla did not approve of Flora in Wolfe’s bed, and he hardly thought Isla would approve of Flora as his wife.
“Just a few more days.”
“One thing you’re wrong about is that I will not slide my mother’s ring on her finger.”
“No?”
“My parents’ marriage is nothing I would like to replicate.”
“Then perhaps the occasion calls for visiting a jeweler.”
“Indeed. You mentioned that the others wanted to go into town? Why don’t we all go together? That will give Flora time to work on everything.”
“Splendid.”
Wolfe and Hamish left the room to find the others. At least going to town would provide him of some distraction, and in the meantime he could ensure that the ball was everything Flora desired as well.
Perhaps Flora was working, but Wolfe had a new task, one only for himself. He wanted to create the most wonderful ball in the world, for her. He wanted her to have the very best time imaginable. He wanted her heart to soar, and he wanted her to feel special, because she was. She was more special than any of the guests he’d invited.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Any delusions Flora might have had that Wolfe intended their liaison to be anything more vanished. Wolfe was always with his friends, and she was alone decorating the huge ballroom. She ironed ribbons that she’d purchased with Wolfe’s help, trying not to become sentimental. He’d been more skeptical of glossy fabrics than she was, stating a preference for the durability of linen that was decidedly a masculine instinct as well as an enthusiasm for tweed and tartan fabrics that suited his Scottish countryside upbringing. No matter. There was no point in growing sentimental at the sight of the ribbons. At least she knew now this was the end. She tried to think about how that could be a good thing, even though it seemed like just a minute more in his company, ten minutes more, would be everything.
She sighed. Tomorrow would be the Christmas ball, and the next day she would leave for her perfect position in Cornwall to be a companion to a young widow in a far off location where Mr. Warne would no longer find her.
She tried to push away the joy she’d found in the manor and the friendly staff. The staff in Cornwall were probably friendly as well, and it was wrong of her to feel any doubt. In fact, it would be good to go and not wonder if every footstep she heard was Wolfe and whether he would come to her room.
He never had.
Once she left, she wouldn’t have to studiously avoid looking at him when he was in her vision, lest she wonder when she looked at him why his face was rigid, devoid of any smile, devoid of anything else, that made her heart yearn.
She worked rapidly. She would make this ball wonderful, and that would be it. This would all be a memory, a foolish youthful indiscretion before she embarked on a road to certain spinsterhood.
THE SLEIGH SPED OVER the slopes, approaching the town’s familiar gray buildings. Isla’s coiffure was perhaps slightly less immaculate than when she entered the sleigh, though her smile was wide.
“How could I have forgotten this?” she asked. “It’s delightful.”
Wolfe grinned. “We’ll have to make certain this becomes part of the new McIntyre family tradition.”
“In addition to an elaborate ball?”
He nodded. “Naturally.”
“I visited the ballroom,” she said, her tone more serious. “It does look spectacular.”
“Doesn’t it?” He beamed, and his mind dwelled on Flora’s talents.
Isla gave him an odd look.
The driver stopped in the center of the square, outside of the public house, and soon Hamish and Callum, their wives, and Mr. Warne and Lord Pierce arrived.
“Don’t tell me they’ve brought their guests,” Isla said, in a mournful tone that sounded suspiciously like a groan.
Perhaps Mr. Warne or Lord Pierce might become his sister’s husband. Wolfe glanced at her, conscious of wanting to see what her impression of the men would be.
“You may find them amusing,” he said.
His sister’s eyes narrowed.
Devil it.
She was always clever.
“Both men are quite fine and unattached,” he declared, despising the slight defensiveness in his voice.
“One wonders why they’re unattached,” she said.
“Perhaps it’s because they haven’t met you.”
She laughed. “I’ve seen both of them in balls at London.”
Well.
This was evidently not going to be a case of love at first sight. No matter. He hadn’t loved Flora at once either, but he absolutely did now.
“I imagine you haven’t spent time with them,” Wolfe said.
“I never saw the need,” Isla grumbled.
“Be nice to them.”
“That’s not my natural inclination,” Isla said, and Wolfe rolled his eyes. “The men might think I desire to marry them.”
“You mustn’t speak like that,” he said. “There’s much to be commended about marriage.”
“Indeed? According to the man who’s never shown any interest in courting anyone before, despite the heavy suggestions of multiple matchmaking mamas and proud papas? And who’s spending nights with one of his servants? Really, no sense of morals at all.”
“No, I think it is important for you to have someone good in your life.”
“How hypocritical,” Isla murmured.
Wolfe winced. Perhaps it had been hypocritical when he’d arranged this, but he now knew it was true. His time with Flora had been wonderful, and he wanted Isla to experience the same. She couldn’t simply flit from house party to house party indefinitely. That was no life, even if he had tarnished her reputation. He was determined to make it better.
“Just be nice to them,” he said curtly, and soon he approached the others.
“Lord McIntyre. Lady Isla.” Lord Pierce dipped down into a bow and kissed Isla’s hand. Wolfe gave him an approving nod.
Lord Pierce was somewhat stocky and was active in parliament. Wolfe imagined Isla would find his parliament activity dull, though he hoped she would find his title respectable. Isla had of course always app
reciated music. Both Lord Pierce and Mr. Warne frequented music gatherings.
He strode through the streets of the town.
“My lord.” A few people nodded to him.
“I didn’t realize you were so acquainted with the people here,” Callum remarked.
“Perhaps I’m more memorable than you are.”
Callum frowned. “Nonsense.”
Wolfe had always assumed London to be far superior, and he dismissed this town as being close to where his parents had lived, but he was enjoying returning here, even if his last trip here, with Flora, had been decidedly more enjoyable.
He resisted the temptation to drag the others into the haberdashery. He doubted the experience would be the same without her.
The sun shone brightly, and the weather was colder than on the other days. The brisk wind constantly nipped at the back of his neck and the place where his gloves and coat sleeves met, as if trying to reach any way to chill him, no matter his carefully chosen woolen attire.
Callum’s wife drew Callum’s attention to something, and soon Wolfe found himself walking with Mr. Warne. Callum was not particularly close to Mr. Warne, but he often found the man at musical events.
“What a lovely town,” Mr. Warne declared. “I am enjoying it.”
“Good,” Wolfe said.
“You don’t mind the cold?” Isla’s lips curled, and Wolfe shot her a warning glance.
“It is a welcome change from the south coast,” Mr. Warne said.
“Where are you from?” Isla asked, and Wolfe sent her an approving nod.
She was making conversation. This was wonderful.
“I’m from Sussex,” Mr. Warne said. “Near Hastings.”
“Ah, a place abundant with smugglers,” Callum murmured.
“Yes,” Mr. Warne said. “Quite.”
“I heard they can be quite violent in that area,” Hamish’s wife said.
“Perhaps that’s why he’s moved to London,” Isla said, “and perhaps it’s why he doesn’t find it too cold here.”
“It would be a long way for smugglers to come here,” Wolfe demurred, “even if this is on the coast and even if this area does have a good relationship with France.”
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