While You Were Dreaming

by Celeste Bradley

  And ran into a large masculine wall.

  “Oof!”

  Large masculine hands caught her as she stumbled back from her collision with a large masculine chest.

  “Oh damn!… I mean… My deepest apologies, Miss Grey!”

  It was the cursing vicar who had run her down like a careening ale cart. Of course.

  She staggered and his grip tightened to steady her. “Oh heavens, I am fine. Yes, yes, now kindly get off!” She prepared to heft him a decidedly unladylike shove if he didn’t let go, but he released her at last.

  Holding back a snort of disdain with all her might, more out of respect for the collar than the man, Norah impatiently tugged her bodice straight. It seemed her neckline had caught hold of his top coat button, gifting the vicar with a view of rather more of her bosom than she’d ever intended. She hoped he hadn’t spotted it. The way he looked swiftly away proved he had indeed noticed.

  With a withering glare that she really couldn’t restrain, she bustled off impatiently muttering under her breath. That man!

  He did smell very nice though.

  VICAR JOHN BARTON stood gazing after the woman whose collision with him had made him feel as though he were on the losing side of a pillow fight. Then, she’d snarled at him again. Now he was certain the words “clumsy ox” had drifted back down the hall to his ears.

  That woman!

  The fact that she treated him so rudely didn’t seem to matter to his physical body, which had very much enjoyed the forceful impact of the lady’s generous anatomical differences. The flash of the sumptuous tops of her breasts didn’t help.

  Give me strength.

  Miss Grey disappeared into Lady Emmeline’s chamber down the hall, which was precisely where John had been headed. He’d wished to check on the lady’s condition before he went down to breakfast.

  Rethinking the matter, John decided he ought to take his gullible body out for a brisk walk in the cold air, just to teach it some discernment. Then he would feed it some ham and eggs and hopefully they could put the entire incident behind them.

  The body had a point, however. It was high time the vicar took a wife.

  His chest ached. He would have, if that poaching bastard hadn’t taken her first.

  He sighed. “My apologies, Lord.”

  I shall not curse.

  “LADY EMMELINE IS the heiress to Lady Marianna’s estate, found at long last,” Lady Bernadette told John as she leaned back in her chair at the breakfast table with her second cup of tea. “Of course, Matthias never thought she’d leap at his invitation, not when she would have to travel in such snow. But she and her relations are most welcome. They are Marianna’s family, so they are Matthias’s and mine now as well.”

  She spoke very naturally of her husband’s beloved first wife, who had died along with his small son in a fire long ago. It seemed Bernie had come to terms with that lost love and felt secure in Matthias’s new but unshakable love for her.

  John was surprised. “A matrilineal entailment? That’s unusual.”

  She nodded. “But it is done—and by heaven it ought to be done more often!” Bernie tossed back her tea and then unsuccessfully hid a catlike yawn. “Oh dear. I was up so late—and I’ve so much to do today!” She sighed and stood, waving John back to his seat with a newly acquired social grace. It suited her, this new mantle of Lady of the Manor.

  Although personally quite informal, Bernadette Goodrich had been born a lady and had lived the life of a well-bred girl until the death of her and young Simon’s parents in her fourteenth year. As the wards of a poor vicar and his hardworking wife, Bernie and Simon had been well cared for, but it had been no life of luxury, rather grim and sparse. Becoming Lady Bernadette was more a matter of remembering herself than transforming into someone altogether new.

  She was now clearly deliriously happy, despite her frantic attention to the holiday preparations. Miss Bernie Goodrich, now turned Lady Bernadette of Havensbeck Manor.

  Her green eyes twinkled at him now and old pain tugged somewhere in his chest. Bernie had been the one for so long. Now she was someone else’s one.

  Let her go.

  John wasn’t sure how that was to be done. He had checked the Book, which had never failed him before. Sadly, it only instructed him not to covet. It didn’t explain how to stop coveting. Should he enact some hedge-witch ritual, like waving a pair of shears over his heart under a full moon to symbolically snip an invisible thread?

  Lady Bernadette dashed from the room, fully energized despite her alleged weariness. John had no doubt she would finish all her tasks and they would be done with love.

  Oh, Bernie.

  Then she popped her head back into the breakfast room—which was more luxurious than many a dining room—and lifted one finger.

  “And Miss Grey is not Lady Emmeline’s lady’s companion. She is her cousin, through their fathers. So no inheritance for poor Miss Grey. If I were Miss Grey, I would be green with envy, wouldn’t you?” With an affectionate little wave, she disappeared again.

  Should he tell her that her fondness and friendship actually made it worse? Never.

  Still, her last comment explained a great deal.

  Caustic Miss Norah Grey seemed to have fallen prey to envy. Her cousin had beauty and high standing, now considerable wealth as well—and Miss Grey had none of that. Miss Grey might be forgiven for her unlikable disposition, but John wasn’t in a particularly forgiving mood at the moment.

  Blast that woman! He sighed and looked heavenward. I know, I know.

  NORAH FROWNED AT Miss Higgins. “Why ever should I allow that man to sit with Lady Emmeline? This is her bedchamber!”

  “He’s the vicar, miss! Shouldn’t he ought to be looking after the poor little one’s soul?” Miss Higgins looked down. “Just ... in case, like?”

  Norah did know. In case.

  In case Emmeline never woke.

  Norah tightened her fingers around Em’s limp hand in hers. It was all her fault that Em was in this fix! If only she’d done more to restrain Emmeline’s impulsive urge to race on toward the manor in her stylish new carriage.

  It was clear from the beginning of the four-day journey that Emmeline felt restricted by the pace required by the elder members of their party in the second carriage. When she’d learned that their destination lay yet another day away at their snail’s pace, she’d been frantic to fly onward to her brilliant new destiny.

  What would another day of travel have really cost? Much less than had speeding on those snowy roads, fanned onward by Emmeline’s giddy impatience!

  For most of her very attractive life, no one had been able to deny Emmeline anything. It was a tribute to Em’s naturally sweet disposition that she wasn’t a holy terror by this, her nineteenth year.

  As it was, Emmeline had been able to wheedle even Norah into yesterday’s unwise adventure—and Norah had believed herself to be entirely immune to her cousin’s ebullient charm.

  Yet you did say yes, and you even helped her sneak out the baggage so silently in the predawn light. Now Emmeline was going to die.

  It is all your fault!

  Quelled by her guilt and overwhelming grief at the very thought of Emmeline coming to such an early and unnecessary end, Norah swallowed her objections and nodded jerkily at Higgins to let the vicar in.

  The dratted cursing vicar! Of all people to take innocent Emmeline’s soul into his hands!

  Of course, Nora must give him his due. He had saved Emmeline from a terrible fall. The way Emmeline had hung out over the frozen river—and the way Norah’s grip had begun to slip—

  Victor Barton entered and, with a short nod of acknowledgment, he sat opposite Norah. The two of them became as still and silent as cast-iron bookends framing the pale unconscious beauty on the bed.

  Norah barely looked up from Emmeline’s hand in hers. It always been Norah’s one small vanity that she had pretty hands, graced with long e
legant fingers. Yet Emmeline’s were still prettier. Norah didn’t care. She held Em’s more lovely hand with every ounce of will inside her directed at the pale flicker of life within her cousin. You will be fine, Emmeline. You will be just fine.

  The incredibly annoying vicar stirred on the other side of the bed. His slight movement wafted his scent across the still, silent room. He did not smell of heavy cologne or sickly perfumes. Rather, it reminded Norah of the pine forest under a freshly fallen snow.

  She had caught that scent just this morning. That distracting encounter in the hall outside her chamber had left her skin tingling from the unaccustomed contact. She wished she could say that the memory gave her a shudder of revulsion, but she was not so dishonest with herself. Her senses had flared to life, as if hungry for more such enticement.

  It was no matter, simply a natural animal reaction to an acceptable male in a female animal’s vicinity. Well, rather more than acceptable.

  He was handsome, if one liked men who were tall, broad-shouldered, with dark blond curling hair and eyes the color of pewter.

  Oh, I cannot bear myself right now!

  Here she sat with Emmeline’s very possibly dying hand held in hers, yet she had the callousness to think about “eyes the color of pewter” and “a pine forest under a freshly fallen snow”! Her huff of self-loathing caught Victor Barton’s attention and he gave her a quizzical look.

  The very color of pewter. The polished and cherished kind, like some plate or pitcher held as an heirloom from a beloved relation.

  She was so revolted by her own ill-timed attraction that she lifted her chin to glare back at him. He was the source of her inappropriate but undeniable interest. So what if he was handsome? He wasn’t the first handsome man she’d seen. Emmeline and Norah, as her chaperone, spent their afternoons and evenings surrounded by hopeful suitors, some of whom were held to be very good-looking fellows, although Norah had never really thought so.

  The man before her was far more appealing than the silk-clad peacocks that swarmed to Emmeline’s side, even in his coarse farmer’s shirt and simple trousers. Norah did not deny the lure. However, this man’s effortless good looks and rather riveting natural scent need have nothing to do with her. He was just some country vicar, one she’d likely never meet again after this holiday.

  A rather heroic country vicar, remember?

  Again, that had nothing to do with her world, her life, or her future. She had long understood that she would never marry.

  She was too plain and too outspoken to catch the notice of a wealthy gentleman and too destitute to tempt a poor one. It didn’t matter. From the outside looking in, Norah didn’t really see the advantage to marriage for a woman. All that wooing seemed to go away once the wedding ended, and when the necessary procreation was complete, the women of Norah’s acquaintance seemed to think very little about their husbands except as arbiters of their spending money.

  However, Norah did like children. She’d always counted on Emmeline having a handful of them, and then Norah could be part of their little lives.

  Dotty old Cousin Norah pottering around in her attic room, dusting her fusty old books and hoping another woman’s child will drop in for a game of draughts.

  Sometimes Norah’s inner voice was rather unkind. It was a flaw she meant to work on, very soon.

  Emmeline’s hand lay cold and still in hers and she felt a pang of further mourning within her overwhelming misery. If she lost Em, she would also lose her own future as part of Emmeline’s family. No one else needed Norah the way Emmeline did.

  Her cousin would make a loving, careless parent, full of spontaneous fun and unpredictable thoughtfulness, but she had always planned on having Norah’s help with the serious matters of running a household and child-rearing.

  Emmeline, if you wake up, I will choose all your staff for you from the scullery to the governess. I will surround you with good, stable people who will steer your life well and never take advantage of your sweet nature.

  Norah felt anger well up inside her at the thought of some conniving butler skimming from the household budget, or worse, some horrendous child nurse punishing Emmeline’s little one too cruelly—

  “Are you unwell, Miss Grey?”

  JOHN CRINKLED HIS brow at Miss Grey’s furious glare that seemed to be directed at nothing in particular. “Miss Grey, has someone done something to displease you?”

  She broke her deadly intensity to blink at him in confusion. “The governess,” she blurted. Then she blushed hotly.

  There were no children at Havensbeck but young Simon, who had an excellent young tutor by the name of Eddington Finch, who was currently visiting his family in the next county.

  “There is no governess in Havensbeck Manor, Miss Grey. Might this person be a housemaid?” He hardly thought any of the staff of Havensbeck could arouse such ire. Then again, Miss Grey seemed to despise John himself so one could hardly abide by the judgment of such a wildly irrational person.

  Miss Grey looked down at Lady Emmeline’s pale hand in her own grasp. John was astonished to see a tear drip from the woman’s nose. At last, a natural reaction to the terrible situation!

  “Do you ever…” Her voice was low and husky now, and surprisingly melodious once done with snapping and snarling.

  She trailed off, but John had a great deal of practice coaxing the inner thoughts from stoic country people. He simply waited, his expression serene and only mildly expectant. Eventually his patience bore fruit.

  “Do you ever imagine a thing that has not actually happened—and the very idea of it upsets you so severely that you feel very real emotions in the picturing of it?”

  John bit back a rueful smile. “On occasion, I do.” Virtually every time he caught sight of the former Miss Bernadette Goodrich, actually. “I try not to think too much of it, for it is merely the sign of an excellent imagination, don’t you think?”

  She stared at him then, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. “Do you think so?”

  Then she scowled and John remembered that he wasn’t particularly fond of this woman.

  “That cannot be all that is. I’m positive it says something very dire about my flawed personality that I could be filled with rage at a nonexistent governess.”

  John almost laughed out loud, but caught his clergyman’s practiced dignity about him like a concealing cloak. “I am certain that it is so. Tell me, what has this figment of your imagination done to rile you so?”

  She looked away. “I imagined Emmeline’s children someday.”

  Emmeline’s children? Not her own?

  “And I thought how awful it would be if some nurse or governess was unkind or cruel—”

  “Ah. Well, it does happen, I suppose. So you were preparing yourself for dealing with this treacherous person?” She might be a wee bit mad, but at least her irrational fury was in the service of good.

  Unlike your own.

  She must have caught a flicker of that thought in his expression, for she narrowed her gaze. Miss Grey’s focused attention was a bit disconcerting. John felt sorry for the nonexistent governess—that is, until he remembered what she had done—or would do—or neither, for she did not exist!

  Dear Lord, she’s contagious!

  “You really do know what I mean, don’t you? Why is that? Why is it that you, of all people—”“ She rolled her eyes skyward.

  John’s irritation began to stir once more.

  “You should grasp what no one in my acquaintance, nor even in my own family has ever understood?”

  I shall not curse. I shall not curse.

  “Miss Grey, perhaps we ought to remain peaceful and soothing for Lady Emmeline’s sake.” It was an unworthy jab, but John was disturbed by more than Miss Grey’s scorn.

  The fact was that he’d almost liked her for a moment, truly liked her with a flash of that particular joy one feels when meeting someone of like mind and humor, someone whom one inst
antly recognizes as being important. Someone who could become a true friend.

  Despite having earned the respect of the village and being held in mostly good regard by its lord, John’s only real friend was Simon, a nine-year-old boy who had almost become a brother, almost a son.

  He was also fairly certain that his mule liked him a little bit.

  Somehow, he didn’t think his little list of recommendations would endear him to the tart-tongued Miss Grey.

  His reminder of Emmeline had instantly quelled her prickly moment and she now turned her attention back to her cousin’s welfare.

  John realized that the entire exchange had taken place in the lowest of tones, almost whispers. With Miss Grey so occupied, John examined her closely. She looked much the same as she had after their collision earlier this morning, pallid and slightly mussed. Her hand trembled as she soothed her cousin’s brow. Suspicion stirred within him.

  “Have you had breakfast?” Now it was his turn to glare at her. “Be truthful—when did you last eat something?” It was nigh unto luncheon already!

  She merely waved a hand at him without looking up from Lady Emmeline. “Miss Higgins brought me a bit of soup last night.”

  John noticed that she did not claim to have consumed this alleged soup. “And before that?”

  She shrugged, an awkward rejection of his concern. “Emmeline was in a hurry to leave for the manor.”

  “You haven’t eaten for two days?”

  She looked up at his insistent tone. “We were driving so fast. I don’t like a full stomach on such a jouncing pace—”

  John was on his feet in a flash. He yanked open the chamber door. “Jasper!”

  Oh, that woman!

  Chapter 4

  A

  FTER THE INTERFERING vicar had called down upon her the full force of the manor’s very determined staff, Norah had found herself fed to near lethargy. Then, when she’d been caught yawning by the eagle-eyed Miss Higgins, she’d been put to bed like a toddler for a midday nap.