Chapter Nine
‘I’m afraid there’s not a room to be had, madam, with tonight’s coaches cancelled and all.’
The innkeeper’s regret seemed less than genuine, but then he had probably repeated this same message to most of those crowded into his public room. There was a roaring fire in its massive fireplace, but the thought of spending another night sitting upright was almost more than Isabella could bear.
Buck up, my girl, William would have told her with a grin. You’ve endured much worse than this bit of inconvenience.
‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile, but the man had already turned away to handle the next stranded traveller’s concerns.
She started towards the public room, which at least offered the promise of sustenance. The vision of the laden tea tray she’d left behind at Woodhall Park flashed into her head, but she banished the memory. A cup of tea and a piece of toast would see her through until morning. Perhaps by then the coaches would be running again.
She glanced towards the doors to the courtyard to assess the snowfall. The agent who had been kind to her earlier was coming through them. He stopped to beat the heavy flakes from his hat.
When he looked up and saw her, his eyes widened. ‘You’re back.’
‘As you see,’ she said, managing another smile.
‘What happened? His lordship in town?’
‘No,’ she said succinctly. We do not suit was hardly an explanation she could give to a stranger.
Hardly an explanation at all, her heart chided, but she ignored that, too.
It was clear her former benefactor was at a loss. She had convinced him that she and Lord Easton were indeed acquainted. It must seem to him now that she had been turned out into the cold.
‘That doesn’t seem right,’ he said. ‘The family has a reputation for hospitality.’
‘It was quite my decision, I assure you.’
‘To leave? In the middle of a storm?’
She shrugged, unwilling to go into her reasons, and certainly not here in the entryway of one of the busiest coaching inns in the district.
She had already taken a step towards her intended destination when the agent’s question stopped her.
‘Is his lordship still well, then?’
‘Still?’ Even as she repeated its salient word, his question echoed in her head. Is his lordship still well, then?
‘After his trouble. We were assured he’d recovered.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ Her voice was remarkably calm, considering the clamour in her breast.
‘With his eyes. You know he was blind when he came home from the war?’
‘I did know.’
‘Well… Must have been the end of the summer, I guess. A fever of some kind, maybe. Or something tied to his wounds. I’m not sure I ever heard the reason. All I know is that for a time he was blind again. When I heard he’d regained his sight I drunk a pint in his honour, I can tell you. The family has been good to folk around here, especially when times are hard. Seems his lordship is like to continue their benevolence.’
She had not been misinformed. The gossip that had sent her foolishly rushing here had been true.
And then, almost as those realisations were forming, came the next. Guy had known why she’d come and had allowed her to believe that she’d been mistaken.
Must we be prostrate in order to be attractive to you? Or merely blind?
Her immediate response to his deception was anger. To be fair, however, he hadn’t lied to her. He had simply not admitted to the condition that had sent her hurrying to offer him things he no longer wanted from her. Comfort and succour.
I have always needed you.
She had sworn that if she accepted Guy’s suit it would be because she loved him as she had loved William. Passionately. Completely. As equal partners.
Why was it wrong, then, for him to desire those same terms for their relationship?
‘I shall need the chaise again, I’m afraid,’ she said to the agent. ‘I’m sorry to give you so much trouble, but I find I must return to Woodhall Park.’
‘Now?’
‘As soon as possible. I have unfinished business there.’
‘But the weather—’
‘Yes, I know, but I trust that you have someone who can get through the storm. After all, the distance is not so great.’
‘I’m sorry, miss, but there’s no one to drive you. They’re either on their way to their homes or bedded down already. I can’t ask any of those men—’ He stopped, seeming to realise that nothing he said was having the desired effect.
‘Then if I may hire a horse? Or a pony cart? A wagon. Anything I can drive myself.’
‘I can’t let you do that, miss. Not fit for man nor beast out there.’
‘But I am neither. I shall make it worth your while.’ Even as she offered the bribe, she mentally counted the few remaining coins in her purse.
No matter. If the worst came to the worst, she could throw herself on Lady Easton’s mercy.
‘It ain’t a matter of money, miss, believe me—’
‘I must return. And tonight. I know that I can’t possibly make you understand the urgency—’
In truth, she didn’t quite understand it herself. All she knew was that she needed to go back. To confront the man who on one hand claimed to need her and on the other hand sent her away.
‘I’ll take you,’ the agent said. ‘It’s against company policy, you understand…but seeing as how it’s his lordship.’
‘Thank you, Mr… I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.’
‘Simms, miss. My name is Simms.’
‘Mr Simms, you have my undying gratitude. And if I have my way, I believe you shall have his lordship’s as well.’
‘Despite what they say about his lordship’s bravery in the face of the enemy, my money’s on you, miss. I don’t reckon there’s been many times when you didn’t get your own way.’
‘It’s Mrs, actually,’ she corrected with a smile. ‘Mrs Stowe. The widowed Mrs Stowe,’ she clarified when his brows lifted. ‘And I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have made your acquaintance, Mr Simms.’
There were far fewer lights in the house this time as they rounded the final curve. Isabella’s eyes again considered the imposing structure, but without that same sense of trepidation that had afflicted her before.
Now it was simply another obstacle in the course of her impatience. A door to be knocked upon. A servant to be convinced to give her admission, despite the hour.
‘Shall I wait for you, Mrs Stowe?’ The agent’s question as he opened the door of the carriage brought her quickly back to the practical.
‘I don’t believe that will be necessary.’ In the dark interior she poured the contents of her purse into her gloved hand. Too few coins for such a service, but it was all she had. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll never forget your kindness, Mr Simms.’ She held out her hand to him.
‘It’s Christmas,’ he said, folding her fingers over the money on her palm. ‘At least I think it is.’
She, too, had lost all sense of time, but surely it was past midnight. ‘Take them, please.’
‘You say a good word for me to his lordship. Payment enough, I promise you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘As the sunrise. Now, let me help you down. It seems the staff has taken advantage. Probably having their own celebrations below stairs. Don’t you worry, though,’ he continued as he saw her safely to the ground, ‘I’ll knock ’em up in no time. There’s always somebody on duty in these great houses. Even at Christmas.’
His hand firmly under her elbow, they climbed the steps together. When they reached the top, the agent reversed the whip he carried and banged its handle against the door. ‘Open up, in there. You’ve a guest out here in the cold.’
After a moment his demand was answered. Although the servant was not the one who had let her in before, his assessment was as quickly made.
‘Madam?’
‘I’m here to see Lord Easton. Please tell him Mrs Stowe has come again.’
The servant’s brows rose, but something—perhaps the assurance in her tone—made him step aside to allow her entry.
She turned back to smile at Mr Simms. ‘You’ll never know how much—’
‘Are you sure I don’t need to wait?’
‘Lady Easton invited me to spend the night when I was here before. This time I plan to take advantage of her kind invitation. I’m sure there’ll be somewhere here for you to sleep if you wish.’ She turned questioning eyes to the footman, who responded with what was clearly a sniff.
‘Don’t you bother your head about me, miss. There’ll be plenty of places back at the inn. Good company,’ Simms said, looking pointedly at the haughty servant, ‘a pint or two, and it will seem like a party.’
Isabella held out her hand. ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Simms. God bless you for your kindness.’
The agent hesitated a moment, before reaching out to take her fingers in his. The thick gloves he wore made the contrast between them even greater. Solemnly he bent, his lips smacking the air just above the black leather.
‘And you, Mrs Stowe. May you get what you want for Christmas.’
She smiled at him again as he stepped back. The footman had closed the door even before the agent had turned to return to the chaise.
‘If you’ll wait in here, madam,’ he said, directing her with his hand to the small cold room where she’d been sequestered before.
‘Somewhere with a fire, if you please. And a cup of tea would not come amiss.’ She smiled at him, too, but there was no mistaking that she had just issued a command.
And, despite the poor quality of the gown she wore and the exhaustion that must be etched in her face, it was rather quickly and efficiently obeyed.
Guy was standing before the fireplace in his office, looking into the flames without seeing them. The only images in his head were of Bella. Her eyes shadowed by fatigue. Her hands scrubbing at tears he had caused. Her too-thin figure disappearing into the frigid darkness of a hired chaise.
When the door opened behind him he assumed someone had come to build up the fire. He automatically looked down at the hearth, realising from the glow of embers exactly how long he’d been standing here.
‘A Mrs Stowe to see you, my lord. She’s in the drawing room.’
He wasn’t sure what Bella’s return implied, but despite everything he couldn’t be sorry for it. At least she was not out in the night’s bitter cold.
‘I’ll go to her. Did you offer her tea?’
‘She sent for it straight away, my lord.’ The footman’s tone held a trace of admiration. ‘It should have arrived by now.’
‘Thank you, Trimble.’
He wondered all the way to the room where she waited what he would say. Did the fact that she’d come back signify that something had changed? Or simply that with the storm she’d been unable to complete her journey?
He entered the room to find her comfortably ensconced before the replenished fire, pouring a cup of tea from a silver pot. She looked up immediately, but he could read nothing from her expression.
‘Tea?’ she asked calmly.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Slightly chilled, but I expect the tea and the fire will take care of that. And you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I understand you’ve been ill.’
He should have known. Someone had told her what had happened last summer. Her return was merely the inevitable result of that knowledge.
‘That was weeks ago.’
‘And you saw no point in telling me that what I had been told was in fact true?’
‘True no longer. And, since that is the case, I wonder that you’re here.’
‘A glutton for punishment, perhaps.’
‘Punishment?’
‘I am concerned for you, and you respond to that concern by deceiving me. But then deception has been your stock in trade from the beginning.’
‘Which doesn’t answer my question. Indeed, it seems to make your return even more curious.’
‘I came back to ask what you meant.’
‘What I meant? About what?’
‘You said that you had always needed me.’
‘I hardly think there is any mystery about that. I did ask you to marry me.’
‘Yes, I know. But need didn’t seem to play a role in your suit. Not as I remember it. It seemed to be much more strongly rooted in desire. Or am I wrong about that?’
‘You know I desire you. I made no secret of it.’
‘But the fact that you need me…’ She paused, her cup halfway to her parted lips, her eyes on his face. ‘I think you have been rather more secretive about that.’
For a moment the only sound in the room was the cheerful crack and hiss of the newly stoked fire. Finally Isabella lowered her cup, replacing it on the saucer.
‘The truth, if you please,’ she said softly.
The truth. Whatever her motives in coming here, she deserved at least that.
‘You told me once that coping with blindness would require a man of remarkable courage.’
‘Did I? I don’t remember that. But, as I’ve admitted, I was apt to say whatever I thought would give comfort or encouragement…’ She shook her head, her gaze still on his face.
‘I’m not sure I have that kind of courage. Not any more.’
He could almost see her putting the pieces together. Realising, as she had that night so long ago, exactly what he feared.
‘Then…you believe there is some danger that what happened last summer might happen again?’
‘When I was burned, my right eye was more severely damaged than the left. Even after I regained my sight it was prone to periodic inflammation. In August it became inflamed to such an extent that the infection spread.’
‘To the left?’
He nodded, the memory of the morning he’d awoken to that realisation so strong it blocked his throat.
‘And you fear that it may happen again?’
‘As a result of the infection I have lost what sight remained in the right eye. That vision returned in the left was perhaps another of the miracles you promised. I’m not sure anyone ever gets three such miracles.’
‘You think that you may one day be blind again?’
‘With good reason.’
‘A good enough reason to cause you to rescind your proposal?’
‘You turned down my proposal. I didn’t question your reasons.’
‘Actually, you did. And quite rightly. They were simply a matter of pride.’
‘Believe me, I understand the importance of one’s pride. Especially when one has little else to cling to.’
‘And what if I hadn’t turned down your proposal? What if we had been married when you lost your sight?’
He could only be glad that it was not what had come to pass. ‘Perhaps that was your miracle.’
‘A lucky escape?’
‘Whether you believe it or not.’
‘Rubbish,’ she said feelingly.
‘I understand that you think there is something romantic—noble, even—about caring for someone who is unable to care for himself. You proved that in France. You proved it again by coming here as soon as you heard about my blindness.’
‘I came because I care a great deal about what happens to you. When I heard that you had lost your sight…’ She stopped, seeming to choose her words carefully. ‘It made me realise how little the rest mattered. My age. Your title. Even the fact that I might not be able to give you children. Nothing mattered to me then but being with you.’
‘To care for me in my hour of need?’ His sarcasm was bitter.
‘Isn’t that what a marriage is supposed to be? Two people caring for one another?’
‘Perhaps you are willing to spend the rest of your life leading your husband about by the hand. Forgive me, dear Bella, if I am unwilling to be led.’
‘And your reason is as much about pride as were mine.’
‘Of course.’
‘In the months since you left I have found pride to be a highly inadequate companion.’
It was as close to an admission that she’d been wrong to turn down his proposal as he was likely to get. If she had made it only a few months earlier…
‘You believe a blind man would be a more adequate one?’
‘What was it you said when I told you I might be barren? If you are blind, then you are blind.’ As he had done, she distinctly enunciated each of the last four words. ‘Have I not been foolish enough for both of us, my love? Life is so short. You and I have lost too many of those we held dear not to know exactly how fleeting it is. With my pride, I’ve thrown away months we could have been together. Will you throw away years? Because of something that may not even come to pass?’ She held out her hand to him.
A hand that, if he accepted it, might one day have to guide him in his darkness.
And would that not be a blessing? A miracle of the same magnitude as the others he’d already been granted?
In the months since you left I have found pride to be a highly inadequate companion.
What kind of solace would his pride be in the coming years?
All he had to do to secure what he had dreamed of through so many lonely nights was reach out and take Bella’s hand. And take with it all the joy that would come with his acceptance.
For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish… The essence of all the promises inherent in marriage.
Isabella had apparently made peace with the first of those. To secure his right to the last all he must do was accept her assurance that she wanted him, no matter what the future held. And who could ever know what that would be?
‘Listen,’ Isabella said softly.
And, ears straining in the midnight stillness of the great sleeping house where he had been born, Guy finally heard what she did. By some trick of the wind, or because of the crystalline clarity of the snow-tinged air, the sound of bells drifted upward from the old Norman church in the village below.
Christmas. The season of miracles.
Surely, dear God, I am allowed one more.
Tears blurred his vision, but blindly Guy reached out, his fingers closing around the slender ones that offered him everything. Even, if that day should come, guidance in a darkness that he knew now would never again be empty.
Regency Christmas Proposals Page 8