by Regina Scott
“Are you hiding back here so you won’t be forced to play?” How well Porter knew her.
“If my brother knew how to keep his jaw locked, I’d not have to slip into dim corners during musical evenings.”
Porter’s gaze shifted to where Vance sat. “He is the one who betrayed you, then?”
“Who else?”
He looked at her once more. “Did he happen to tattle to Mrs. Northrop?”
How had he guessed that? “He did.”
“Hmm.” Porter’s eyes shifted to Mrs. Talbot, who had only just sat on the stool at the pianoforte.
“Are you upset with Mrs. Northrop?” His tone certainly hinted at displeasure.
But he shook his head. “I’m merely piecing together a bit of a puzzle.”
“Involving her?”
He nodded. “And you.”
Her heart clenched. What was he trying to sort out where she was concerned?
His mouth turned in thought, his brow pulling low.
“Is this puzzle something unsettling?” Asking seemed the best approach.
He seemed to suddenly realize he’d given that impression. He smiled softly, setting off a fluttering in her middle. “Mrs. Northrop earlier today had a long conversation with a certain gentleman who expressed a wish for someone to play the pianoforte tonight during the musical evening.”
“Where does Vance come into this?”
Porter grew noticeably uncomfortable.
She shook her head, fighting down a grin. “You don’t get to weasel out of this as easily as that. You may have sorted the puzzle, but I have not.”
With a noticeable lightening of his expression, Porter leaned closer. Heavens, the tantalizing scent of his shaving soap only added to the flutter she felt. “I suspect Mrs. Northrop is undertaking a bit of matchmaking.”
“For me?” In her shock, she forgot to keep her voice lowered. Several people in the music room looked back at her.
Porter laughed silently. “Oh, pish.” He mimicked well the inflection she’d used when uttering that exact phrase only a couple of days earlier. “You are not a terrible dancer, and that is really all that matters. I am certain Mrs. Northrop is aware of that.”
“And that is why she is choosing to show me to advantage to this as-yet-unnamed gentleman?”
Porter had no opportunity to answer. Mr. Ellsworth’s booming voice prevented any conversation anywhere in the room.
“Indulge us, Miss Munson,” he said. “We wish for another song on the pianoforte.”
“Mrs. Talbot played wonderfully,” she said. “Do allow her to continue doing so.”
“Nonsense,” the young widow said. “There is time enough for everyone to play.”
Drat that Mrs. Talbot. And drat Mrs. Northrop. And drat Vance.
“I don’t think you’ll be given the opportunity to escape,” Porter said. “You would do well to get it over with.”
He wasn’t wrong. Chloe steeled her resolve and moved to the instrument. She sat, placing her fingers over the keys. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her playing or particularly bashful about it. She simply didn’t enjoy performing.
Her eyes met Porter’s, who yet stood at the back of the room. He offered a tiny nod and a smile of encouragement. It helped more than he likely knew.
She chose a simple song, one that would not last long but also wasn’t likely to disappoint. How tempting it was to continually glance at Porter and receive the encouragement he offered. She feared if she did so too often, the entire room would see her heart hanging in her eyes.
As her selection came to a close, she looked up once more, just in time to see Mrs. Northrop exchange glances with Mr. Twickenham. The puzzle Porter had not entirely divulged became clear: Mr. Twickenham was the gentleman, Mrs. Northrop was, indeed, matchmaking, and Vance, she suspected, was part of the effort.
Mr. Twickenham was a good enough sort, but she had no interest in a match with him. Indeed, until she’d realized the state of her heart, she’d had no interest in a match with anyone.
There was only one thing for it. She would watch Porter over the next day or two, whilst doing her best to avoid Mrs. Northrop’s choice for her. If she saw any indication that her dear friend felt something more for her than the casual connection they’d always had, she would somehow find the courage to interfere with the matchmaker he’d hired and attempt to be matchmaker herself.
* * *
Before Adelaide had undertaken her current line of work, she had been quite quick to dismiss as foolish people who did not figuratively rip their hearts out by confessing their love when they had no reason to believe doing so would end in utter humiliation, pain, suffering, and the loss of friends and loved ones.
Why do they not simply have a conversation? she’d so often said to herself. If they would just lay bare their souls, all would be mended.
She now recognized her arrogance for what it was. How readily one insists that a risk ought to be undertaken when that person has nothing on the line. How quickly people were to criticize others’ vulnerabilities from a place of utter security.
Watching Miss Munson and Mr. Porter that evening, her heart ached for them. They were so very close to their happiness, so near to toppling the wall of uncertainty between them and that future. If only one of them would inch closer to that place of vulnerability, Adelaide felt certain they could close the remainder of that gap.
She would simply have to create an opportunity for them to do so.
Chapter Seven
Porter had wrestled with his unexpected insight for two long days. Days in which Mrs. Northrop arranged for him to spend time with ladies he had no interest in. Vance teased him mercilessly about his distraction, and Lewis complained at length that Chloe hadn’t spent enough time with him. And in the midst of it all, Twickenham had grown a little nauseating in his attentions to her, beginning with his puppy-eyed gazes the night of the musicale.
Christmas Eve arrived without the usual cheer. His mind was heavy, and his heart was worried. The guests would be gathering the traditional greenery, divided in small teams.
Mrs. Northrop pulled him aside. “I know who I would like to see you teamed with. She comes from a good family.”
He knew where this was headed. “I am planning to ask Miss Munson. Lewis is joining me, and they enjoy each other’s company. We all enjoy one another’s company.”
She tipped her head a bit. “Miss Munson? I thought I heard Mr. Twickenham say he intended to ask her.”
Twickenham? The man was as irritating as a rash. Porter looked over the gathered people and found Chloe. She stood with Vance—not Mr. Twickenham. He crossed to her, forgetting in his haste to bid farewell to Mrs. Northrop.
“Have you a partner for the greenery gathering?” He asked the question without the slightest pause for a greeting. What was the matter with him today?
“I do,” she said.
His heart dropped.
“Lewis asked me this morning,” she said with a smile filled to the brim with mischief.
He felt an answering smile tug at his lips. He looked to Vance. “Will you be joining us as well?”
He shook his head. “Mr. Caster has invited me to join his wife and daughter, and I fully intend to accept.”
Relief swept over Porter. He offered Chloe his arm. She accepted. How was it he had never noticed before how pleasant it was to assume this very commonplace arrangement with her? Did she take pleasure in it as well? How he hoped she did.
The children arrived from the nursery in the next moment. Searching for Lewis proved unnecessary. He darted to them, throwing himself at Porter’s legs.
“Let’s go, Papa. Let’s go.”
Chloe simply laughed, neither distressed by Lewis’s enthusiasm nor displeased with Porter’s presence.
They were given a small sled to pull behind them as they traipsed through the snow in search of pine boughs and holly and all the other traditional Christmas greenery.
Lewis sat on
the sled, eagerly taking in the scenery. Chloe was sure to remind him to hold still enough to be safe, though she walked with seeming contentment at Porter’s side. If not for Lewis so nearby, he might have made an attempt to discover if her feelings went at all beyond friendship, if there was any hope of something more.
Porter removed a few low-hanging pine branches with the little saw he’d been provided. Chloe helped Lewis pile them on the sled. He climbed atop the bows, and Porter pulled the sled to the next tree. Again and again they undertook the task. All the while Chloe kept Lewis calmly engaged without stifling him. Her wit and humor repeatedly pulled laughter from Porter.
They were never lonely when she was with them. Somehow he hadn’t ever seen that or recognized it.
“Do you think your papa can reach that?” Chloe was pointing up into the branches of a tree.
Lewis, standing beside her, looked up as well. “The green clump?”
She nodded. “Yes. It is the most important of the yuletide plants.”
Lewis bounced. “It is?”
“It is,” she confirmed.
Porter, curious, moved closer and looked up as well. Ah. “Mistletoe.”
“And we found it!” Lewis spun about in a circle.
“We certainly did,” Chloe said. “And do you know the tradition of mistletoe?”
Lewis shook his head.
“Two people who stand under the mistletoe at the same time are supposed to exchange a kiss.”
“Oh.” Lewis was not yet old enough to find the prospect displeasing. “Do they have to? Will they get in trouble if they don’t?”
“No,” she said with an empathetic smile.
“But they can give a kiss because of the missing toe if they want?”
She shot Porter a look of wide-eyed amusement and mouthed, “Missing toe?”
He managed to stifle his laugh.
Chloe turned back to Lewis. “They can if they wish.”
Lewis took her hand and tugged her downward. She hunched low in front of him. The boy stretched on his toes and gave her a sweet, little kiss.
Chloe pulled him into a hug. “Oh, I do love you, Lewis.”
Lewis looked past her to Porter. “Your turn, Papa!”
“My—” He choked against the words. “My turn?”
“You are under the missing toe. You are supposed to kiss her, but you won’t get in trouble if you don’t want to.” Lewis looked at Chloe, who stood facing Porter. “Did I tell him right?”
“Yes, you did.” She spoke to Lewis but watched him.
He leaned his saw against the trunk of the tree and took a single, tentative step toward her.
“Lewis did say you don’t have to.” She spoke quietly, not looking away from him.
“I know.” He reached out and took her hand. “You don’t have to either.”
“I know.” But she didn’t move, didn’t pull away.
Porter’s heart pounded as he closed the gap between them. He took a breath, trying to calm his nerves, but it helped very little. She set her free hand on his chest. His pulse leaped on the instant.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist. She bent her neck, looking up at him. He brushed his lips over hers, light and gentle. Her hand slipped from his chest to his neck, her fingers feathering along his chin.
He kissed her again, more fully, more deeply. She slipped her hand from his and wrapped her arms around his neck. She returned his kiss with all the fervor with which he offered it.
“Do I need to rescue you, Chloe?” Lewis asked.
Chloe laughed, and their kiss broke. He didn’t release her. She didn’t move away.
“Does he need to rescue you?” Porter asked.
“I understand rescue is only necessary if the one being kept doesn’t wish to be or the one doing the keeping no longer wishes to keep her.”
Porter nodded. “I’ve heard that as well.” He, himself, had said that the day they’d played in the snow.
Her hands shifted, resting at the front of his coat, her fingers fussing with his buttons. “No, Lewis. You don’t need to rescue me.”
All the nervousness he’d felt melted away. He was no longer uncertain, no longer worried about the future.
“Are we keeping Chloe, Papa?”
“If she’ll keep us,” he whispered.
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “That would be the finest Christmas present I have ever received.
* * *
“We agreed to this amount.” Mr. Bartrum had been trying for a solid ten minutes to convince Adelaide to accept the monetary consideration they’d previously agreed upon.
She assumed her most determined expression and posture. “I applaud your integrity, Mr. Bartrum, but please believe me when I say that being part of this party and enjoying the hospitality of our hosts for a week has been ample compensation for an assignment which required I merely nudge two people enough for them to see the truth right in front of them.”
Miss Munson slipped her arm through Mr. Bartrum’s. “You knew?”
Of course she had. “I did.”
“How quickly did you sort it?” Miss Munson asked.
With a smile she wasn’t entirely certain she kept free of amused pity, she said, “The very first day.”
Miss Munson laughed heartily. Mr. Bartrum watched his darling with unabashed tenderness. This soon-to-be family would be a thoroughly happy one.
“Why did you insist upon thrusting lady after lady upon Porter if you weren’t attempting to make a match?” Miss Munson asked with a smile.
“And attempt to impress Mr. Twickenham with Chloe’s musical abilities?” Mr. Bartrum added.
“Sometimes the best way to help people finally see what they already have is to show them what they could have but don’t want.”
“Chloe! Chloe!”
Miss Munson turned toward the open front door of Ellsworth Manor. Lewis was bounding across the entrance hall toward the threshold. Chloe hurried to him, catching him up in her arms.
Mr. Bartrum watched the scene, though he spoke to Adelaide. “You could have simply told me that I was in love with her since you sorted it so quickly. That would have saved us all a great deal of time.”
She shook her head. “The heart does not work that way. It cannot be told what to feel; it simply must make that discovery on its own.”
“My heart has given me the greatest Christmas gift imaginable,” he said.
Adelaide was not an overly sentimental person, but his sincere gratitude for the happiness he had found touched her. “This has been a fruitful Christmas house party for me as well,” she told him. “I have secured a new assignment thanks to my presence at this gathering.”
“You have? That is a fine thing.” Mr. Bartrum was a good-hearted person, precisely the kind she found pleasure in securing a future for.
“It is, indeed. And I depart immediately. So I will bid you farewell and wish you every happiness.”
Mr. Bartrum shook her hand and expressed his gratitude once more.
Miss Munson had just returned to where they stood, Lewis bouncing excitedly in her arms. “Are you leaving us?”
Adelaide nodded. “I don’t suspect you need my intervention any longer.”
Even with a wriggly child in her arms, Miss Munson managed to hug her. “Thank you again and again for everything.”
“It is my pleasure.”
“Are you ready, Mrs. Northrop?” her newest client asked through the lowered window of the traveling carriage.
The usual new-assignment excitement bubbled inside. “I am always ready.”
On that declaration, she climbed into the Cunninghams’ carriage, eager to help another deserving soul find her happiness.
The number of matches she had facilitated numbered in the dozens, all of them loving and promising and hopeful. A life spent in such a noble pursuit was a life worth living. And she meant to live it fully.
Click on the covers to visit Sarah’s Amazon author page:
/> Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone
and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has thrice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam Victorio at D4EO Literary Agency.
Visit Sarah online:
Twitter: @SarahMEden
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Website: SarahMEden.com
Chapter One
The new Duke of Salsbury hardly noticed the guests as he took each hand, welcoming them into his London townhome. Christmas boughs lined the entry where he stood. The smells of his favorite Christmas punch should have warmed him, brought back memories of childhood. He supposed he said all the niceties and guests responded in kind, but in truth, his mind was elsewhere. The Asters had come to his ball. All morning his mother festered and worried as to why they would accept the invitation. It was a curiosity for certain, but not one to exert oneself over. Though, he admitted, news of their arrival did tighten his throat in a familiar sorrow. The formal mourning for his father’s untimely death finished last month. He didn’t think his mother would ever be finished mourning . . . or urging him on to all sorts of pursuits she felt vital to his well-being.
She nudged him. “Lady Fenningway has arrived.” His mother insisted he do his duty by dancing with this new debutante. His father had set up an alliance with her family before he passed, a powerful meeting of two ducal houses. He hoped Stephen would court and marry the woman. Her family hoped the same. Unfortunately, Stephen did not share the general enthusiasm for the idea of marriage to the big-toothed, awkward twelve-year-old he had met years ago.
He did, however, have a strong sense of duty. The music for the first set began, the three-step of the waltz. He turned in the direction of his mother’s demanding finger just as the footman finished announcing an auburn-haired beauty. A daring lilt lifted her chin. Her eyes sparkled, and a half grin warmed her face. Her dress draped down around a slender figure, her arms rested gracefully at her sides. His smile grew. Perhaps a union with her house would not be as tedious as he at first envisioned. Had they not met as children? Surely he would recall such a face. Did his father not allude to mediocre looks but a sharp wit? He couldn’t remember, and he had considered all talk of marriage most decidedly not urgent, so, regretfully, he had only listened with half an ear. But this woman could never be described as mediocre. She attracted him and many young men around her, immediately.