by Lily Dalton
Sophia followed, but over the countess’s head, she saw the pistols raised and cocked.
“Stop, darling!” screamed the countess. “Don’t do it. I love you.”
The earl turned his head to her. “Annabelle? Are you talking to me? Or him?”
“You!”
Suddenly, the snow upon which he stood collapsed.
With a bellow, the old man disappeared, until only his arm remained visible above the surface, his knobby hand clutching the pistol. The weapon discharged into the sky. The crowd roared with laughter and approval.
Claxton, expressionless, fired his pistol into the snow, several feet to the side of his boot.
“Oh, thank God,” Lady Meltenbourne sobbed, rushing toward the men. Sophia followed, but slower now, each breath painful, as if chilled by frost.
Striding forward through the snow, Claxton wrested the gun from the earl’s hand and peered into the hole. “Now, enough of this nonsense. I will suffer no more of your unfounded accusations, as they highly offend not only my sensibilities, but those of her Grace.”
“Here, here,” shouted several villagers.
Reaching into the hole, Claxton hauled his lordship out by his arms. Red-faced and clearly abashed, the earl sputtered out complaints about the weather and the misfortune of faulty firearms. Lady Meltenbourne collapsed, embracing him.
Sophia reached them just then. “Lord and Lady Meltenbourne, please come inside and out of the cold. I’ll make tea.”
Claxton’s head swung toward her, eyes wide and blazing. “What did you just say?”
“Lady Meltenbourne has something to say to her husband.” She looked at the countess. “Isn’t that so?”
Annabelle lifted a tearstained face from Lord Meltenbourne’s neck. “So much to say. And to you as well, your Graces. I have been the most foolish woman, and I beg you all to forgive me.”
Inside, Sophia saw to the tea service. Afterward, she fled the house. Emotionally raw and unable to remain inside for another moment, lest she burst into tears in front of everyone, she made her way through the snow toward the cemetery. Alone at last, she exhaled the breath she had been holding for what seemed an eternity. Her breath puffed out, white vapor against white snow, and she pulled her cap down over her ears.
Thank God Claxton had not been killed. Tears blurred her vision. She’d danced along a dangerous cliff for the past two days and had at last tumbled down, head over heels. Her neat little plan to wait to make love with him, until her heart could be held separate, lay burned to ash at the bottom of that pit.
Now, as a result, her heart felt as if it had been torn out of her chest and put back in place, but upside down. If only she was not so physically attracted to his handsome face, his brawny muscles, and his magnificent—
“Oh!” She kicked the snow and muttered a very unladylike curse. He was an indulgence she’d found herself unable to resist.
But if she were honest, her feelings went much deeper than that. These past several days she’d seen something else in his eyes, an openness she’d never perceived in him before. He’d always been so cool and imperturbable before, his ducal façade never wavering. It was as if Lacenfleet had unlocked some hidden part of him, a missing piece that completed the puzzle of him.
Did that make him a better man, one capable of constancy, no matter the trial or misfortune?
What would happen after Christmas, when the magic faded? What if she became pregnant only to lose the baby again, like her dear friend Lady Peyton, who had endured not one, but four miscarriages over the past three years? Without a child to keep them together, what would happen to their marriage? Would it dissolve into the same sad state as before?
This morning, after waking to the shocking realization of Lady Meltenbourne snuggled up asleep beside her, she’d quickly gathered up her clothing to dress in the next room. And yet, for some reason, she’d hesitated at taking Claxton’s list. She had even considered throwing the despised piece of paper on the grate to curl, blacken, and dissolve into ash.
But…what had changed between them since last night? Nothing, other than she’d surrendered a large measure of the power she had battled so fiercely to assert and now felt weaker for the loss.
No matter how much the earth had trembled for her when they’d made love, she could not be so foolish as to believe some magnificent transformation of her husband or their relationship had occurred simply because they were again sharing intimacies. To do so would return her to the same indefensible position in which she’d been before.
In the end, she had snatched the folded paper up as well, a reminder to keep her heart in its rightful place, behind its safe little wall—not in her lover’s hands.
“My lady,” a voice called, drawing her attention.
Haden rode horseback toward her from the stable.
Quickly she wiped her eyes. “Lord Haden.”
He dismounted smoothly, his boots crunching on the snow, and removed his hat. Drawing the animal by its reins, he walked toward her, cleared his throat, and laughed.
“Well. Thank God things turned out as they did.”
Beside him, the animal stamped and snorted.
“Indeed.” She smiled, struck in that moment by Lord Haden’s similarity of appearance to her husband. The stark winter light revealed the younger man’s hair to be a shade lighter than Vane’s. While they shared the same startling blue eyes and height, Haden’s face and physique were decidedly leaner, more leonine, and elegant than Claxton’s muscled stature.
“I—ah—well—” he stammered handsomely, peering at her with an almost boyish shyness. “I have already apologized to my brother. I wished to apologize to you as well.”
“You already apologized inside.”
“Insufficiently.” He rotated his hat in his hands. “If not for me bringing Lady Meltenbourne here that first night, this duel and all the rest would never have happened.”
“You certainly added excitement to what could have been four dreary snowbound days.”
“You are too kind, I’m afraid.” He glanced down at his boots. “My behavior of the last week, and indeed, for the whole of my life, has been nothing short of reckless.” His lips twitched. “And thoughtless. At some time we must all come to the realization it’s time to become an adult. I am twenty-eight years old. I suppose I’m long past due for that, and it is time for a change.”
“Thank you for saying so, Haden, and of course I accept your apology.”
He nodded again and shifted his stance. His gloved hand tightened on the reins.
“My brother is fortunate to have married a woman such as you.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you to say.”
“No, not thoughtful.” He shook his head and winked at her. “Just true. I can only hope that one day I will be as fortunate. I know I’ve been very much absent, but I’d like to be a better brother, not only to Claxton, but also to you.”
The earnestness with which Lord Haden spoke earned him a very immediate and solid place in her heart. “It would make me very happy to see more of you.”
His cheeks flushed. “Wonderful. And I say that not just because you have two very lovely, ever-so-charming unmarried sisters. Daphne and Clarissa—they are both well and…remain unattached?”
“Indeed.” Sophia laughed. She would not tell Lord Haden that he was too much of a rake for her to ever recommend him as a match to either of her sisters or anyone she considered a friend. Even though she would never play the part of his matchmaker, she liked him very much.
He chuckled. “Well, then. I ought to go.” He returned his hat to his head and retrieved the reins from where they trailed in the snow. “Wouldn’t want to be here if things go badly between Annabelle and Lord Meltenbourne.” He chuckled. “If anyone is looking for me, except either of them, mind you, I’ll be on the pier, waiting for this damn frost to break so I can get on the first barge out. See you in London, then?”
“Indeed.”
Boot
thrust into the stirrup, he swung onto his mount. The animal pranced, hooves crushing through snow and ice, and set off a few paces.
“Lord Haden,” she called after him.
He drew on the reins and circled around. “Yes, my lady?”
“We’ll expect you for Christmas Eve at my grandfather’s home.”
“I’ll be there.” He smiled warmly. “Thank you for including me.”
Left alone, Sophia trudged on to the cemetery. Numerous gravestones emerged from the snow, some leaning and others pockmarked by time. At the farthest patch of ground, nearest the forest, stood a bell-shaped mausoleum bearing the words ELIZABETH. MOTHER. DAUGHTER. WIFE. A sudden wistfulness weighted Sophia’s heart. The three simple words seemed insufficient to describe the legacy of a remarkable woman whose influence still marked the lives of her sons and her village. At the same time, she prayed she would be blessed enough in life so that her grave marker carried the same three words.
An unexpected blur of color on the steps of the mausoleum caught her eye. At first she thought a bird perched there, but no. Moving closer she found three butter-yellow roses, with a distinctive shading of pink along the edges, almost perfectly preserved by frost.
“There you are.” Boots crunched in snow. “I have been looking everywhere and was about to set off to the village in search of you.”
Sophia turned.
He stood on the path behind her, concern muting his smile. “Is everything well?”
She hoped he couldn’t tell she’d been crying. She smiled. “That was not your first duel, was it?”
“May I decline to answer that question?”
“Yes, you may.” She turned back to Elizabeth’s grave. “Did you leave these beautiful roses for your mother?”
He came to stand beside her. His gaze moved over the monument with reverence. “Roses?”
She pointed to the flowers, not wishing to disrespect the memorial by touching them.
“I don’t know anything about them. Curious. I’m not sure who would have left them.”
“I just saw Haden coming from here. I thought perhaps he left them, but they are frozen to the stone. They must have been here for several days.” Sophia looked at the roses again. “It’s a lovely monument. You haven’t visited since we arrived, have you?”
He traced a leather-encased fingertip in along the letter E at the beginning of his mother’s name.
“Why? Tell me,” she implored softly.
“She’d have been disappointed in the way I lived my life after leaving this place. She raised me to be stronger. She would most certainly have chastened me over the way I handled the loss of our child, leaving you the way I did when you needed me most. Duty to the Crown be damned; that’s what she’d have said.” He offered a little smile, chuckling softly. “Only she wouldn’t have said ‘damned.’ I never once heard her curse.”
“Disappointment is one thing, but she was your mother. It’s not as if she would have stopped loving you, no matter what.”
He looked back at the house, his gaze extending down the vale toward Lacenfleet. “I don’t deserve all this.”
“Camellia House?”
“Everything.”
“Why would you say something like that?”
He looked up at the very top of Elizabeth’s monument. “It is cold,” he said. “You ought to come inside.”
She held back, reluctant. “I don’t wish to eavesdrop on whatever Lord and Lady Meltenbourne have to say to one another. I know I’m a terrible host to say so, but I’ve had rather enough of the both of them for one day.”
“And yet you invited them into our home?” He reached out to tug on an escaped tendril of her hair. “Why?”
Our home. The words sent a shiver through her, very different from one inspired by the cold. A pleasant sort of shiver that she decided to allow herself. She explained to him Annabelle’s explanation for her dalliances, or rather, her flirtations with other men.
Claxton grunted and frowned. “I don’t much care why she does it as long as they leave us alone. She is a spoiled woman who cares nothing of the damage she inflicts on others. Once we are free of this frost, best neither of them cross my path again.”
“Lady Meltenbourne will find her way. She just needs to know she’s not invisible, that she’s valued as his wife.”
He answered dryly. “She could certainly find other ways to gain notice.”
It would be easy to smile and say nothing more. To simply walk along beside him as if she had nothing more to say. But silence had caused such difficulties between them.
“I don’t want to be like that, Claxton,” she burst out. “Like Annabelle.”
“You?” His eyebrows went up in dismay. “I don’t see how in any circumstance you could ever be compared to her.”
“I don’t want to be perceived as grasping. Of begging for your attention.”
His eyes widened as if in disbelief. “I assure you, you’ll never have to beg.”
She joined him, and together they walked toward the house. “It’s easy to say that while we’re here, cut off from the world as you and I know it. You don’t have any choice but to see me.” She hated speaking these words and voicing her doubts aloud. Lady Margaretta had taught Sophia and her sisters very early in life that much of a woman’s beauty came from confidence and a respect for one’s self. It had never been Sophia’s nature to plead for anyone’s reassurances. “When we return to London, everything will be different. There will be all the same people. All the same challenges as before.”
He pulled her to stand in his shadow, blocking the brunt of the wind with his body. The next gust sent his hair curling around his ears.
“After last night, you wish to paint our future with dread?” He reached for her hand and lifted her palm, spreading it over his heart. He frowned. “Don’t do that. Let me be your husband again. Give me the chance to make you happy.”
At his mention of the night before, she blushed. “You never used to say such romantic things.”
“I’m saying them now,” he answered fiercely, spreading his hand over hers.
And just like that, her resolve faltered. “How can I refuse you with my hand pressed over your beating heart? Yes, I will. I will let you make me happy.” She offered her bravest and most sincere smile. “I will strive to make you happy as well.”
She would be happy, even if that meant one day giving him up. For now, this was enough. It had to be, if she wanted a baby. Perhaps even now she already carried their child.
He rubbed both of her shoulders before grazing his fingers over the collar of her redingote. Gently grasping each side, he pulled her toward him for a kiss. His lips plied her gently, sweetly urging hers apart, purchasing entrance for his tongue. His hands framed her face, while his slanted, deepening the kiss. Just like that, like magic, her body responded. And not just because she wanted a baby. Because she wanted him.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested against her lips, nipping the bottom one. “This time we’ll lock the door.”
“Yes,” she agreed, wanting nothing more than to be buried beneath a paradise of warm blankets with him, at least until Christmas Eve when she hoped they could emerge and travel all the way to London and surprise her family for the singing of carols and decorating of the tree.
They arrived at the kitchen stoop. “You go on inside and see if Lord and Lady Meltenbourne are finished,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt if things are not settled between them.”
He passed her on the steps and reached for the door. “We should have made them talk this out on the front lawn, or better yet, at the inn,” he muttered darkly. “I want them out of my house.” He bent to kiss her again, openmouthed and urgent. “I want everyone out but you and me. Once they’re gone, I’m going to shove all the furniture in front of the doors and perhaps even nail them shut.”
Cheeks flushed, she waited for him. It was not a minute before she heard his footsteps on the kitchen floor, and h
e came rushing out again, wearing an odd expression. “Ah…we can’t go inside just yet.”
Sophia’s hopes fell. “They are at odds again?”
Claxton’s eyebrows shot up. “From the sounds of things, they are very much in the midst of reconciling.”
“Oh, splendid.” She rubbed her hands together to create a bit of warmth. “At least they are still talking.”
“I wouldn’t call what they are doing ‘talking.’” He paled and flushed all at once. “I can’t honestly say what’s going on in there, but whatever it is, I don’t think we can interrupt without one or both of us being scarred for life.”
“Oh,” she said in sudden understanding. “Oh, my.”
“And no, I didn’t see. Thank God.” He laughed. “I only heard. I was too afraid to look.”
Sophia bit her bottom lip. “Clearly they need more time.”
“But who knows how much longer it will be?”
Disappointment cooled her ardor. That and the freezing weather. “How to pass the time?”
He pivoted on his heel, coming to stand side by side with her. Though he did not put his arm around her, warmth emanated from his coat where his sleeve touched hers. “With all the excitement, I’ve almost forgot that we have the third quest to complete. Sir Thomas still has that bee up his nose. Would you care to accompany me to the church?”
Sophia smiled and nodded. “Perhaps this will be the last one.”
The words inspired within her an unexpected sadness. She could not help but wish the game would go on forever.
Claxton set off for the stable. “I’ll bring the sledge around.”
* * *
In a silence broken only by the steady trod of the horse’s hooves and the swoosh of the sledge, Vane pondered the subject most prominent in his thoughts. His marriage to Sophia.
He should be satisfied. He’d won the return of her smile. They’d made love and would make love again. They even talked in pleasant terms about the future. But the pensiveness he’d glimpsed in Sophia at the cemetery troubled him. Had she agreed to the idea of future happiness only to appease him? If so, he would not press her further. He could not help but suspect she held some part of herself back. Could he blame her when he had done the same for so long?