by Ava Stone
“That is a wise motto to follow, my lord. Life is too short to miss out on many things.”
She was directly on the mark. How much had he missed by not noticing the young lady he paid service to all those years ago?
Miriam spent much of her time with Jane and the baby, too tired to do much else. She wasn’t sleeping well and found it difficult to remain awake during the day. When she tried to read, the words spun in a jumble so she reread the same paragraph repeatedly before moving on.
Lord Northcotte was not what she’d call attentive, but polite and considerate. He occasionally offered to play cards or take a turn about the room on a rainy day. Conversations between them had returned to the weather, or what he saw on his early morning rides.
She missed the spark between them, the banter. Of course, with his mercurial moods, the lack of arguments was a relief. She missed the friendship she’d felt growing between them. It had been a unique experience, one she’d enjoyed, having a man she considered a friend, who was not related to her or her girlfriends.
By Christmas Eve, she’d made a decision. Sitting in the drawing room with the others all there, her path became painfully obvious.
David and Joanna had William in their arms as they sat close, aiding him in holding his sister. Stephen held Harry, who was discovering little Susan’s fingers, ears and eyes, as she lay in her mother’s embrace. The tableau brought to mind the meaning of Christmas, beyond the religion, the love and joy a family shared.
Lord Northcotte was engrossed in the book he held, so Miriam stood. “If you’ll all excuse me, I wish to write some letters.”
They all acknowledged her without much notice and returned to their activities.
Taking a candle from a table in the hall, she went to the morning room, where the coals hadn’t been banked. She stirred them to life to bring some warmth to the cold room, and sat at Jane’s small desk. Taking a paper from the supply within, she began to write.
24 December 1814
Dearest Grandfather Danby,
After much consideration I have determined it is time I married. I understand you have a gentleman in mind for me. I trust your judgment that he is a suitable match, and will leave here in three days’ time to travel to Danby Castle.
A book hit the wooden floor behind her, making her jump. Miriam spun.
Lord Northcotte stood in the shadows just inside the room, picking a book up off the floor. “Forgive me. I misjudged the table. Am I disturbing you?”
“No. I was writing a letter.”
“I see.” He took a few awkward steps towards her. “I, uh, felt an outsider in the other room. I saw the light from the doorway…”
“They are very blessed with their families, aren’t they?” A hand squeezed her heart. But she wouldn’t be lonely like this for long. Once she reached her grandfather’s control, events would burgeon beyond her control and she would be married.
“Yes. Seeing them gives a man hope.”
She couldn’t draw a breath. What did he mean? Knowing him, and the freedom he felt to discuss mistresses and murder with her, he was about to tell her of some other woman he’d deigned docile enough to suit him. “You see? Not everyone finds marriage a miserable state.”
“They do not, this is true.”
His ambling stroll in her direction unnerved her. He appeared so much taller, so much leaner as he neared. The candlelight revealed his determined smile but hid whatever emotion lay in his handsome eyes. Trapped in her chair, she couldn’t back away. Neither could she speak.
“Yet their example is pale in comparison to the one who moves me the most.” He placed one hand on the desk, the other on the back of her chair, his wrist resting against her arm.
It took all her nerve not to flinch away from the heat burning her there. “Oh? What example is that?” Her voice had a breathless quality she couldn’t explain.
“I speak of a certain young miss and her constant faith in me, a faith not even my mother could match.”
“I see.” She cleared her throat when her words squeaked.
“I do not know what you saw in me that evening, Miriam, but I find I like the man you believed me capable of being. If I reflect on my actions since then, your vision is probably closer than my own opinion of myself, with the exception of these past few weeks. It gives me hope that I could live up to such an ideal.”
She forced herself to draw in a breath. “I’m pleased you have a better opinion of yourself.”
“It is much improved. Almost to excess, one might say. Why, I might even have the confidence to ask a lady to be my wife. That is how much you have changed me.”
A scream of frustration pushed against her lips, and she clamped her jaw shut. Why was he teasing her so? If he wished to marry her, he should tell her so now and end her uncertainty. Then a warm, comforting sensation swept over her sending peace to her mind, freeing her to flirt once again with the man she so desired. “That is quite a leap of faith, my lord. Are you certain you are up to the task?”
“No, but I am certain my wife will remind me of my shortcomings. I believe boorish and arrogant are among them.”
Heat of a different kind, embarrassment, stole over her neck and face. “How dare she say such things about you. She must be a shrew. You’ll have to keep on your toes around her.”
“I would be happy to be on my toes, and in her arms. But she hasn’t accepted me yet.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you asked her?”
“I thought it was understood.”
“Lord Northcotte, there is one question a woman prefers to hear spelled out so there is no confusion in the matter.”
He nodded. “I see. Well then…W…I…L…—”
“My lord!” She bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
Inching ever closer to her face, he looked her in the eye. “Miriam, please say you will be my wife.”
“Well, that is not a question—”
His mouth claiming hers cut off her words. His lips were hard, demanding; yet she pressed into them, needing more. His hands remained on the desk and chair, so only their lips touched, yet her entire body responded, tingling as if he held her close. He pulled away, and she whimpered, following, before opening her eyes in confusion.
It pleased her to see he was breathing as hard as she was.
“You haven’t answered me.”
“If I say yes, will you kiss me again? Yes. Yes!”
One side of his mouth lifted in a smile that made her shiver. “Any time you ask it.” He captured her lips gently this time, his tongue exploring when she opened to him.
Her sigh was answered by his groan, and his hands finally clutched her shoulders. When he eased away from her mouth, he left a trail of kisses across her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes opened to find his gaze. “I love you, too.”
He continued to look into her eyes for the longest time. Miriam studied his features, from the brows so much darker than his hair, to his laughing eyes, and the lines on either side of his mouth. She wanted to memorize everything about him.
Eventually he stood, glancing at the desk where her unfinished letter sat. “Who are you writing?”
She grabbed the sheet and crumpled it. “My grandfather. It’s not important.”
“Do not destroy it. I will let you finish it. I should write to my mother—she will wish to meet you.”
As she pressed the letter into a tighter ball ready to toss in the fire, a memory hit her of another interrupted missive. She burst into laughter.
Northcotte turned back to her. “What delights you so, my dear?”
She shivered at his endearment, then ducked from his gaze in embarrassment. “I was merely remembering another letter I once wrote.”
“I see. It was a humorous tale you told, was it?”
“Only in hindsight.” She sighed, knowing what she must do. “I told you the worst of it already. You will not hate me for this. When Grandfathe
r Danby insisted we all come and submit to his marriage plans for us, I felt I needed rescue. And by now you know the one man I felt capable of rescuing me. Lord Mystery.” She burst into laughter again at his expression.
“That is the name my mother gave for this mysterious man to whom I compared all potential beaux. I would never let on who he was, only that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than this man.”
He shook his head and folded his arms over his chest.
“I wrote him a letter—I wrote to you. You have been very kind never to remind me of my foolishness.”
“I never received it.”
She shrugged. “Joanna said your mother never mentioned it. She thought perhaps your mother had burned it before you could read it, since it came from a young lady.”
“My mother only saw the portion of the post that was taken to her. Father or I usually sorted it. You must tell me what it said.”
“Please don’t make me speak of it. We have acknowledged I was extremely foolish as a girl, there is no need to take this further.”
He reached for her hand and pulled her to stand in his arms. “I won’t force you to tell me. Might I coerce it from you?” His hands stroked down her back, pressing her against the length of him.
Miriam’s insides quivered and heated. “Someone will come look for us soon. We should return to them.”
“No one cares about us tonight.”
“We are all that matters now,” she agreed. She rose on her toes and kissed him, her hands pulling at his neck to bring him near.
When the kiss ended, he took her arms and set her away from him. “I am too close to doing something I will regret. I will return to the drawing room and you may follow shortly.”
With one last brief touch of his lips to her forehead, he turned to go.
Just before he reached the door, Miriam called out, “I asked you to marry me.”
“Pardon?” He moved back towards the light.
“In the letter. I begged you not to wait any longer and marry me.”
His gaze held her for so long, she feared he regretted proposing. “Then I am glad the letter was lost. I was not man enough to see what a boon had befallen me at the time.”
Northcotte skipped his morning ride in order to attend church with the others. He and Miriam had agreed to wait until after the service to share their news with the families. Hopefully they could make the announcement before the arrival of the rest of the Lumleys and Sir Perry and Lady Marwick.
No one looked askance when he helped Miriam into and out of the carriage. None of them mentioned the lingering smile he gave her, thank goodness. Her answering smile burned deep within him.
On the return trip he realized he had no gift for her. They had agreed among the couples to only buy gifts for the children, but he couldn’t let his first Christmas with his future wife pass unmarked. The conversation in the carriage went on around him as he considered his plight.
His thumb itched to spin his grandfather’s ring on his finger as he was wont to do when deep in thought, but his gloves prevented the movement. Then it struck him what he would do.
When they arrived home, everyone removed their outerwear in the hallway, handing the garments to the maid and footman. Before she could go on her way, Northcotte grabbed Miriam’s hand, and with a finger to his lips, pulled her into Stephen’s study. He left the door open, but went deep into the room.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “What will the others think?”
“I care not what anyone thinks anymore, anyone but you.” He slipped Grandfather’s ring off his finger and took Miriam’s hand. “My first gift to you, and far from the last. Will you take this ring as a promise until I may find one suitable for a bride as beautiful as you?”
She laughed as her eyes welled, and she stretched to kiss him. “I will be proud to wear it around my neck.”
He pressed it into her palm and wrapped his arms around her, still unable to believe his fortune.
Voices came from the hallway. “Where did Northcotte and Lady Miriam go?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t know.” David answered. “Did they go abovestairs?”
The girls’ laughter echoed in the hallway, and Joanna said, “It’s a mystery to me.”
“Oh yes, a mystery,” echoed Jane, and they laughed even louder.
Miriam spoke against his waistcoat. “We’ve been made out.”
He wasn’t surprised to discover his sister had known what he had not until the night before. “So we have. Shall we go solve this ‘mystery’ for them?”
Before he let her go, Northcotte stole one last kiss from her, knowing that time would crawl until the day he could be alone with her for good. The only mystery to him was how he’d come to deserve this treasure, but he wasn’t going to question his luck. He intended show his gratitude every day for the remainder of his life.
Aileen Fish, author of The Bridgethorpe Brides series, is published under several pen names, with stories ranging from historical to paranormal, and heat levels from sweet to scorching. She is also an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren't enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her "to do" list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families, and her fairy princess granddaughter.
Stay up to date with book releases at her website http://aileenfish.com or on Facebook
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For Jennifer Burk. Thanks for the laughter, the listening and the unwavering friendship. Every person should be so lucky to have a friend like you. Much love ~ Julie
December 1814
London, England
Arrington’s funeral was over but the pall of death clung to Nicholas Beckford, Baron Edgeworth. Damn Arrington for cheating on his wife and getting himself killed. Nick grimaced as he stared out the coach window into the driving rain. He’d curse Lady Arrington too, but her actions were more debatable. On the one hand, she had been a victim of cruel and heartless treatment. Adultery was despicable and unworthy of anyone who called himself a gentleman. He didn’t give a damn if his opinion was the minority. It was the correct belief.
Still…he drummed his fingers against his thigh. Arrington hadn’t deserved to be bludgeoned to death with his favorite fire poker. Forced to beg forgiveness on his knees―yes. Denied conjugal rights until such time Lady Arrington deemed him forgiven―absolutely. Made to grovel daily and purchase incredibly expensive baubles―without a doubt. Never trusted again―perhaps. But beaten to death? A shudder ran through Nick as he once again pictured the scene.
Funerals were never fun for anyone, unless it was your spouse’s funeral whom you hated and were glad to see them go. He’d seen a few of those barely contained expressions of relief at a scattering of funerals in his thirty-one years. A grim smile pulled at his lips. He’d never have to worry his spouse would be standing at his casket counting the seconds until she could see him into the dirt and find the happiness she really wanted. That had never been a concern, because he would never take a wife.
The drunken agreement to never marry he’d made with his old chums several nights ago after Arrington’s funeral wouldn’t prevent him from wedding. He wasn’t afraid of ending up like Arrington as his bachelor friends claimed they were. No, he feared destroying a woman as he’d done once before. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Funerals always unhinged the lock on the memories he kept securely bolted. Several glasses of whiskey would fix that.
As the coach slowed, Nick jumped out of his carriage before his coachman, Peters, was able to bring it to a full stop.
“Milord!” Peters gasped behind him.
Nick swung around while his feet sank into the mud and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the downpour. He waved Peters to leave. “Go home and come back in several hours. No need for you to wait here in the cold
.”
“You’re sure?” Peters pulled his coat under his chin, narrowing his gaze.
Nick smiled. “Have you ever known me to be unsure of anything?”
“No, milord.” Peters whistled to the horses as he urged them to go.
Nick turned and made his way inside the Bright Star Inn and out of the rain. He ducked under the entranceway and shook the rainwater from his hair as he entered the dingy, overcrowded inn. He inhaled an appreciative whiff of the cigar smoke swirling in the air, the sweet smell of ale and liquor―nothing fine or fancy here―and the enticing scent of roasted meat and bread wafting into the pub from the private dining room.
He grunted as he pulled off his overcoat and strode to the stools.
The barkeep, Blakely, tilted his head. “The usual, Edgeworth?”
“The usual won’t do tonight.” Nick tossed his coat over the wooden stool beside him and met the man’s friendly gaze.
“Aye.” Blakely brought out the most expensive bottle of whiskey they had, good but certainly not comparable to the whiskey at White’s. But White’s had nosy people who knew Nick and his family.
Blakely slid the glass towards Nick, without the whiskey so much as sloshing. Nick raised an appreciative eyebrow.
With care, Blakely wiped his hands on a towel, slung it over his shoulder and leaned an elbow on the wood. He raised his bushy black eyebrows as he glanced between Nick and the glass of whiskey. “You’ve got the look of a man who’s had a three-dram day.”
Nick downed the liquor, catching his breath at its pleasurable burn. He cleared his throat and pushed the glass towards Blakely. “I’ve had at least a four-dram day, but it’s debatable. I’ll not make for good company tonight.”
Blakely nodded without questioning and poured Nick another dram before returning to his other customers.
That was exactly why Nick loved this place. No one questioned him here. They didn’t know his past, and they didn’t care. He wasn’t Baron Edgeworth to them. He was simply Edgeworth―a man liked for his occasional generous rounds of drinks, jokes and political views. Very superficial and perfect.