The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

  The hopelessness in her eyes nearly undid him, but Peter held firm as he waited for her answer. He wouldn't force Mary. She had had too much of that this morning. Then, just as he thought she would refuse him, she nodded faintly and he breathed. Peter quickly tucked her hand onto his forearm and covered it with his.

  Silently, he escorted her past a number of his shocked friends and acquaintances. It was obvious to everyone that something significant had happened as no peer would escort a common servant in such a possessive way. And undoubtedly most of them had already heard the rumors going around that he had seduced the Hurtles’ governess. No one would blame him for seducing her; they would all blame Mary for the seduction. Which set his blood to boiling once again.

  With no real destination in mind, Peter escorted Mary to one of the older, less used parts of the castle. When he was sure they were far enough away from everyone, he stopped and pulled her into an alcove with a stone bench in it.

  Once he had her seated, Peter knelt in front of her and then clasped her hands in his. "Mary, no matter what happens, I will not allow them to hurt you. Even if you decide you don't wish to marry me, I wouldn't allow them to hurt you. Do you hear me? I will not allow them to hurt you."

  Not wish to marry him? Was he out of his mind? But that wasn't the real question, and she knew it. Mary was desperately trying to come to terms with all that had happened to her in the last twelve hours. Especially, in the last hour with his mother and Lady Hurtle.

  Even without the confrontation this morning, Mary was nearly a social pariah with her unusual background and education. She might be acceptable for teaching the youth of the ton their numbers and letters and whatnots, but not for socializing with. She would never fit in with the upper class. Even if she wanted to, she was just too unconventional for the social elite of English society. It was why she had decided that becoming a teacher at the proposed women’s college would be ideal for her.

  Those turbulent thoughts had kept her awake most of the night. And by sunrise she still hadn't come to a decision on what to tell Peter. She had hoped that talking rationally to him this morning might help her make up her mind. But then that had been taken away from her by his mother and Lady Hurtle. Mary prayed that he wouldn't demand an answer from her now, because she was more confused than ever about what to do.

  "Your Grace," she started but he quickly cut her off.

  His hand squeezed hers, which she hadn't even realized he was holding. "Peter," he gently chided. "No matter what happens or what you decide, you will always be Mary to me. And I hope I will always be Peter, your friend, to you."

  She nearly lost her composure but managed to swallow the sob that threatened to escape. After several deep breathes, Mary composed herself enough to speak.

  "Peter," she said, and turned her head slightly to hide the tremble in her lips. "I . . . I . . . I don't know what to do, or what to say."

  "Say you will marry me," he prompted.

  Mary laughed bitterly, then swallowed another sob. "I can't," she said and saw him flinch is if she had slapped him, which felt like she had. She rushed to explain. "I cannot be a duchess." Mary saw him about to object like he had last night, and she quickly forestalled him. "I don't think I want to be a duchess, Peter. I'll never fit in with polite society. And I don't want to."

  He hesitated, and then tightened his hold on her hands again. "Then don't fit in with them. Marry me and be whatever kind of duchess you want to be. Or marry me and we will move to the continent, or better yet, to the American colonies where no one is a duke or duchess or a title."

  Mary rolled her hand over and interlaced her fingers with his. "Peter, you can't do something like that. You have too many responsibilities and obligations here. Too many people depend on you, to just walk away from it like that."

  "Mary, I was ready to give it all up, and allow everything to go to that reprobate of a cousin of mine until a year ago. Only by the grace of God, did I come back from the war. And only because of the hope of finding someone like you have I even agreed to marry again. Despite what my mother believes, I never had any intentions of marrying someone like my first two wives. So if you don't marry me, I more than likely will never marry, and the title and everything will eventually pass to Lonell and his side of the family."

  Everything in Mary rebelled at the idea of becoming a peer. Her father had never been a part of his half-brother's world. They had never mistreated him. In fact, her uncle had supported her father when he had given up his prestigious position at Oxford to marry the daughter of a Welsh minister. Her uncle had even helped Mary finish her education after her parents’ death. And he had gotten Mary her first job as a governess with the Vanworths. But Mary had never been comfortable around them. Neither had her father.

  The very idea of becoming a part of a world that had shunned her and her father seemed like a betrayal of everything she held dear. Until Peter came into her life. Now there was something she held just as dear. And the prospect of becoming Peter's wife, no matter what came attached to him, seemed too much to pass up.

  "Peter, I am not saying no-" his face began to light up and she rushed to finish her thought, "-and I'm not saying yes. I won't come between you and your family. I can't." Mary took a deep breath and let it out. She couldn't believe what she was about to say. "If you can get your mother to agree to this marriage, then," she took a breath and blinked away a persistent tear, "then I will marry you."

  "Oh, Mary," he said and exhaled. His face lit up, and he grinned like he had twenty years ago when she had finally agreed to tutor him.

  He enfolded Mary in his strong, powerful arms. Then just as she began to collect herself, he pulled back and framed her face with his hands. "Mary, I love you," he said, and then crushed his lips into hers. This time when his mouth opened she slanted her head to the side to give him better access. His tongue darted into her mouth and played with hers. Time stopped as she delighted in the taste of him, the feel of him. Her hands slid into the silkiness of his hair, and she sifted her fingers through his locks.

  He copied her movements as he began playing with her short curls. Suddenly, he pulled back to examine the corkscrew curls with some fascination. A twinge of remorse settled over her that she’d been forced by circumstances to cut it a few years ago.

  "I am sorry it is so short," she apologized. "I cut it several years ago and sold it when I was between jobs." She took a breath and shrugged her shoulders. "I was told it was all the rage on the continent at the time. And it so much easier to deal with, so I never grew it out again."

  His eyes traveled over her hair in slow motion, examining every curl with exquisite care. Peter's smile deepened as he sifted his fingers through her tresses, sending a cascade of erotic tinglings to flutter down to her chest and then on to her womb.

  "I love it just as it is," he said. "You can grow it out if you want, but personally, I love it the way it is now. It is alive and vibrant, just like you."

  A warm glow filled her as she stared back at him. Most of the upper echelon of society sneered at anyone who was different. Men seemed to worship women that were tall (at least taller than Mary), blonde, and thin. And most of the women Mary knew strove to fit that image. They scoffed at people like her, with her short hair and unusual appearance. She had never thought to find someone like Peter, who actually liked the way she looked.

  Mary leaned forward to capture his lips once again but stopped when she heard voices at the end of the corridor. Footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they grew closer and closer. Reluctantly, he pulled away and gazed at her with hot, burning desire in his eyes. If she hadn’t been convinced that he desired her, the look in his eyes dispelled any lingering doubts.

  "After I heard what Lady Hurtle was up to, I asked his Grace to have you moved to one of the guest rooms," he said, startling her.

  Mary gasped and pulled away. That was before she had decided to marry him—with his mother's permission.

  "Why?" was all she could
ask.

  "Because I realized that once my mother knew I wanted to marry you that she would try to send you away, and I didn't want you leaving until you gave me your answer."

  "Didn't his Grace think that was a strange request? Asking to have a servant moved to one of the guest rooms?" Mary asked.

  He grimaced slightly. "No. I told him I had asked you to marry me."

  Mary pulled away and squinted at him. "And he didn't see anything wrong with you asking a governess to marry you?"

  He smiled back at her and shook his head. "No, not at all." She started to question him but he forestalled her. "Hugh knew your father and mother, Mary. He was a great patron of Professor Penrose. And he knew you as a child as well. He wholeheartedly approves of the match, and wishes us happy with our engagement."

  Well, bloody hell. That was a huge surprise. And if the Duke of Northumberland, head of one of the oldest families in England, approved of the match, then maybe there was hope for Peter's mother accepting it.

  "Come on," he said and helped her up. "Let me escort you to your new room, and then I will go work on my mother. Between Northumberland, myself, and Earl Grey, I think we should be able to bring my mother around in no time at all.”

  No time at all turned out to be a day and a half of haggling, threats, and demands. At least that was what Fran, the lady’s maid that had been assigned to Mary, reported periodically. Why Peter thought she needed a lady's maid was beyond Mary, as she didn't have anything for a maid to do. But none of that seemed to matter to Peter, or to her new lady’s maid.

  The next afternoon, two days before Christmas, Mary's world came to an abrupt halt. A letter had arrived at Alnwick Castle for her from a London solicitor. In it she learned that two of her close friends had died three months before. Two people she had secretly helped to get married.

  Tina Bywaters had been an upstairs maid at the Hurtles’ country estate. And she had fallen in love with a stable boy who had arrived with a pair of Arabian horses that Viscount Hurtle had bought. Ommar Haddad had been a few years older than Tina and just as in love with her.

  The Hurtles had treated him little better than a slave and would have never allowed either one of them to remain if they had known they were in love. So after they had married in secret, Mary had given them money and a letter of introduction to an old student of hers, the new Duchess of Vanworth. The duke and duchess lived most of the year in London and had hired both Tina and Ommar on Mary’s endorsement.

  The solicitor had included a letter from Tina with his. In it her friend described how Ommar had taken ill just before the birth of their child. Tina had also contracted the same disease and had been left weakened by the illness. Her friend had worried she wouldn't survive the birth of their baby, and asked that if she should die and the baby survive, that Mary take the child and raise it as her own.

  On the twenty-fourth of September Tina gave birth to a healthy baby girl that she named Mary Jessica Haddad. According to the solicitor, Tina died two days later. On behalf of the Haddads, as per Tina and Ommar’s request, the Duke of Vanworth had filed guardianship and adoption paperwork in Mary’s name. Mary was now the legal guardian of Mary Jessica Haddad and within a few weeks would become the child's lawful mother, if Mary agreed to the adoption, that is. And there was no question that she would consent to it.

  But she knew doing so would forever change her destiny. Because there was no way the Duchess of Rollens would ever allow her son to marry a woman with a mixed-race baby as a daughter. She couldn't ask that of Peter either. So her fantasy of marrying the man of her dreams was just that, an impossible fantasy that could never come true.

  Chapter 10

  Peter had erroneously believed that gaining his mother's blessing would be the last obstacle to his marrying Mary. Now he wasn't so sure.

  With his mother he had employed the same stratagem that he had used during the war: marshal your allies, encircle your enemies, and attack your target with your combined forces. To that end he had garnered help from the Duke of Northumberland, Earl Grey, Earl Percy, and a few other allies he hadn't expected to support his wish to marry a governess. And they might not have if it weren’t for who the governess was. Or more to the point, who her father had been.

  Professor Penrose had been a well-respected and honorable man. Most of Peter’s new allies had not only known Professor Penrose, they had benefitted from his knowledge of early English history to learn more about their own family histories.

  So once Peter had gathered the troops, so to speak, he had begun his campaign by first winning over his sisters’ approval for the match. Then with a united front, he and his coalition of allies confronted the Duchess of Rollens with a barrage of favorable wishes for the match between the Duke of Rollens and Miss Mary Penrose.

  It had taken a day and half to win his mother's agreement. He suspected what had won the day though wasn't the unified front his sisters and friends marshaled, but the threat that if she didn't approve of the match, he was moving to the American colonies and allowing Lonell to inherit the title.

  Ecstatic at clearing the last hurdle to their marriage, he had gone to tell Mary the good news. What he found was a cryptic note left for him with Mary’s new maid.

  * * *

  P,

  We need to talk. Please meet me at midnight at our usual place.

  Eternally, your dearest friend,

  M.

  * * *

  Peter had not wanted to wait until midnight to talk to her. But try as he might he could not find her anywhere in the castle or on the grounds. He had been assured by the maid that Mary had not departed; her belongings were still in the room that had been assigned to her.

  Peter also learned from Fran that Mary had received a letter from someone in London, and that after reading the letter she had been heard sobbing for nearly an hour. Then when Mary emerged from her room, she had given a letter to the maid with the specific instructions to give it to the Duke of Rollens, and none other.

  Frantic to talk to her and find out what had upset her so badly, he had employed his valet as a spy and set him to watching Mary's room. The ploy had worked as she had been seen slipping into her room a quarter hour ago.

  Peter quickly sent his valet to intercept Mary’s maid an send her to bed. He then silently made his way up to her room and knocked softly. When she bade him enter, Peter slipped quietly in and closed the door.

  He spotted her immediately standing at the window with her back to the room. She had pulled open the curtains and was staring out into the darkened sky, her reflection illuminated in the glass. Her eyes were closed as if she was in contemplation of some momentous decision. A glimmer of moonlight shimmered off the windowpane and cast her as a celestial being. Angelic.

  Without turning around Mary said, "Fran, you don't need to wait up for me. I can dress myself. Go get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning."

  She was still wearing her governess uniform. He had asked his sisters if there was anyone at the castle that could loan Mary something more appropriate for the Christmas Eve Ball and the announcement of their engagement. Although there were a couple of the matrons that were near her size, none of them were nearly as short as Mary.

  His sisters, Thelma and Devanna, had assured him that they would find something in the Alnwick village that would suit his intended. He just didn't know if they had been successful yet and wondered if that was why Mary was still wearing the dull gray servant's dress.

  Not wanting to startle her, Peter closed the door softly and waited. And as soon as the door clicked shut, Mary's head canted toward the windowpane, and she rested her forehead against it. He was tempted to cross to her and enfold her in his arms but something kept him rooted to the floor, his hand still on the door handle. Intuitively, he knew that whatever had upset her would affect the rest of his life. But just as instinctively, he knew he needed to give her time to face him.

  After several minutes she turned and glanced at the ormolu cloc
k on the fireplace mantle. He too glanced at the clock and saw that it was eleven-thirty. His movements must have drawn her attention as she gasped softly and then turned in his direction.

  "Peter," she said.

  "Yes," he replied, then slid his hand down and turned the key in the lock. "And you have been avoiding me all day. Why?"

  The moment Mary had been dreading had finally arrived. And she was not ready for it. She doubted that a hundred years would be enough time to prepare for what she was about to do to the man she loved. Because there was no way his mother would agree to the match now. Not once it was discovered that she had become the mother of a low born, mixed-race baby.

  Mary had spent the hours since learning of the deaths of her friends mourning and cursing God, and fate, for giving her the two things she wanted most in life, and then forcing her to choose between them. And in the end, there was only one real choice in the matter; her namesake needed her. Mary Jessica had no one else, according to the solicitor's letter. If she refused guardianship then the Haddads’ baby girl would be placed with a London orphanage.

  After accepting that God had given her a child, she then accepted that in doing so, she might have to give up the man she loved. Resolute in her decision, she had started to go to Peter and explain what had happened and why she couldn't marry him. But she couldn't do it. Not then. She wanted more time. To do what, she didn’t know; Mary just knew she couldn’t face him earlier that day.

  So she had sneaked out of the castle and wandered around aimlessly until she found herself at the Hulne Priory. Praying at the old abbey had helped calm her turbulent emotions and give her some small amount of clarity. But it had not been able to dispel all of the emotions. So she had gone back to the one place she had always felt at peace, the old Scottish ruins.