The Hope of Love

by Platt, Meara

  He eyed her casually, although there was nothing casual about the desire she ignited in him. “There can’t be much to do. You haven’t changed since the day you arrived here. How long has it been?”

  “Too many years to count.” She winced. “Don’t remind me. I was young and hopeful back then.”

  He chuckled. “And I had no gray hair.”

  She rested her hands on the table, one on each side of her teacup. “One or two gray hairs don’t count. They make you look distinguished, that’s all. And don’t you dare say you’re getting old, because if you are, then I must be as well. You’re only a few years ahead of me. Six years, to be precise. I’m twenty-nine now.”

  “Which makes me a young and hale thirty-five.” Lord, she was right. Where had the time gone?

  Her smile suddenly faltered. “Oh, Angus. I thought I’d be married and have children by now.”

  He leaned forward and placed a hand over hers. “You’ve had offers, Felicity. There will be others. Surely you know how beautiful you are.” Hell, he shouldn’t have said that. “Why did you turn those men down?”

  She shook her head and moaned lightly. “I didn’t love them. They were nice men, I won’t deny it. But I never wanted to marry merely for the sake of convenience. Shouldn’t there be more?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes, for someone like you.”

  Her laughter sounded wistful. “Someone foolishly romantic?”

  “There’s nothing foolish about holding out for love.” Had he been doing the same and simply not realized it? He’d always been in love with Felicity, but to marry her and have his family get their talons into her? He’d never wanted that. And yet, he’d also deprived both of them of happiness by staying away from her. Why hadn’t he ever done something about it? He had the ring burning a hole in his pocket. What was he waiting for? “Love is a good thing.”

  “No, it’s quite frustrating,” she said with an ache to her voice. “It crushes all good sense. I’m practical in all other aspects of my life, so why can’t I be practical in this?”

  “Because the best sort of love is the one that catches you off guard. It is illogical, unreasonable, and never practical. It is a maelstrom that tosses you upside down and inside out and threatens to swallow you up.”

  She laughed again, but he saw that she was struggling to hold back tears. “Have you ever been in love, Angus?”

  Yes, with you. Always. Forever.

  But he wasn’t about to confess it now.

  His plan had been to ride up to his home in Scotland, see how much of a wreck his family had made of their holdings, and then return to Felicity.

  “I’ve been purposely avoiding it for most of my life,” he said instead. He still held her hand, unwilling to let go of it. But he held it gently so she could slip out of his grasp if she wished.

  She tipped her head up and regarded him with obvious confusion. “Why avoid it? I’m quite the opposite. I’ve longed for it, hoped for it all the while I grew up in the orphanage. So you see, I cannot marry a man I do not love. And I’m starting to worry he will never come along. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.”

  Nor did he, but the letter he received two weeks ago was going to change everything. “Is there anyone you’ve cared for enough to marry?”

  She nodded.

  Her admission surprised him. He didn’t like that she’d felt something for another man. He suddenly grew possessive, wanted to cut this man to ribbons. It was an odd feeling to be jealous. Yes, that’s what he was. It was his own fault.

  He’d always liked Felicity…no, loved Felicity, but had no right to feel anything when he’d never declared himself to her. Things were different now. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. “Aren’t you going to tell me who it is? You know I will keep it in confidence.”

  “No, it’s too personal.” She was staring into her tea, an intensely pained stare, and refusing to look at him.

  In truth, this conversation was not one they should be having. But the thought of Felicity in love with another man had his gut twisted into knots. “Is it the vicar?”

  She gazed at him in surprise, her kissable mouth rounded in a perfect O. “No, why would you think… I suppose because all the women in town melt at the sight of him. He is handsome. But he isn’t the one. He’s never been.”

  That eased his mind, until another thought crossed his mind. “Is the man married?”

  She gasped. “Certainly not! How could you think I would–”

  “I didn’t. I merely raised it as a possibility.”

  “Put it out of your mind at once! If this man is married, then he’s gone to great pains to hide it from everyone in town. And if he has been married all this time and kept it a secret from all of us, then he is the meanest, lowest, most detestable scoundrel ever to walk the earth. No, ever to crawl like a snake on his belly and slither across the earth.”

  She was scowling at him now.

  Tossing daggers at him with her gaze.

  He sighed. “I did not mean anything by it. Just making certain no one took advantage of you.”

  “I think it is safe to say, he would be the last man ever to take advantage of me. Sometimes I think he doesn’t know I exist.” She rose suddenly and returned to her kitchen. “Would you care for more tea? Or have you had quite enough of it and me?”

  He rose, but remained at the threshold beside the drawn curtain. He dared not follow her in. Taking that step beyond was too dangerous. She was angry now, but it would take little to channel that anger into smoldering passion.

  Indeed, it would take nothing to enclose them in her private quarters, no more than a light tug to the curtain. What happened next would not be tame or wholesome.

  “Seems you’ve had enough of me today,” he muttered as the import of Felicity’s words filtered through his brain which was working rather slowly this morning. She was speaking of him, angry that he hadn’t pursued her in all these years, and even angrier that he’d stupidly asked if the man she loved was married. The pain was right there, etched into her expressive eyes. He was the one who’d stolen her heart.

  Fool that he was, he’d been unwittingly trampling it for all these years.

  He wasn’t attached and had never been.

  If he were to marry, it would be to Felicity.

  Wanting to marry her had never been the problem.

  She fancied herself in love with him, but he didn’t merely fancy her. He was deeply in love with her. He’d been in love with her from the moment she’d first smiled at him. Loved her, ached to hold her. Ached to kiss her.

  But he’d been too filled with bile over his family situation to do the right thing and court her.

  He’d chosen anger, bitterness, and rage over love, and it might have cost him Felicity.

  Now, he’d been summoned home. What a jest! Home was where he’d been beaten and abused. Home was the cruelest place on earth to him, and he had the scars to prove it.

  He couldn’t bring Felicity there.

  What was he going to do about her?

  Chapter Three

  Felicity spent the next few days watching snow fall like a curtain over the town. It had been snowing for three days now, and the drifts were piling dangerously high. Since everyone was quite dug in and afraid to come out of their little burrow holes, she had spent the unexpectedly free hours finishing alterations to her gown, then pressing out the wrinkles and carefully storing the gown in her wardrobe to keep it good as new and ready to wear on Christmas eve.

  She’d also caught up on business matters, completing her inventory and balancing her ledgers. Since there was nothing more to do, she’d picked up The Book of Love, made herself comfortable atop her bed, and started reading. No one came by to interrupt her.

  Angus had been the last person to stop in and check on her.

  At first, she’d quite enjoyed her idle time. But as the days wore on, she found herself running out of chores to occupy her time. She grew tired of doing not
hing but reading and soon became bored and aimless. If there was magic to this book that dwelt on the science of love, she simply wasn’t finding it.

  In truth, she found it hard to read many of the passages, for they were about shared experiences, family connections, and exploring one’s senses. She had no family connections. Her shared experiences were with other orphans.

  As for the senses, hers were obviously awry.

  Angus was the only man who had ever made her heart beat faster. She’d taken in the sight of him, the clean, manly scent of him. She loved his deep voice and light, lilting brogue that often slipped out beneath his cultured English accent.

  She loved his touch.

  There were times she was sure he was about to kiss her, but she was always wrong.

  To make matters worse, Angus had not come by these past few days.

  She didn’t know why it suddenly mattered to her. Perhaps because she saw her life passing before her very eyes and did not wish to waste another moment of living it. But how was she to start living it when the snow was piling up so high, no one dared stir from their beds?

  Once the winter storm cleared, why would Angus bother with her? She’d shouted at him and practically chased him out the door the last time they were together. “Well done, Felicity. You certainly know how to entice a man.”

  She had just decided to put up holiday decorations to brighten her spirits, no matter that it was a few days earlier than customary, when the bell over her front door tinkled. Her heart beat a little faster. A visitor to the shop!

  She scurried to the front door. “Oh, Vicar. Is everything all right?”

  She tried to mask her disappointment, but he arched an eyebrow and cast her a wry smile. “Expecting someone else?”

  “No. Why would anyone dare leave their home on a day like this? I’m glad to be proved wrong. Only mad dogs and vicars would risk going out in this blizzard,” she teased. “But I’m glad you’re here. I could use the company.”

  The day was obviously wretched and he looked cold. She took pity on him. “You’re shivering and wet. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, Miss Billings. I’d love some. I’ve been going around town making certain everyone is safe and not in need of anything.” He shook the snow out of his hair and removed his cloak, gloves, and scarf. She took them from him to hang on the pegs beside the fireplace.

  “You need more logs for the fire,” he remarked, bending down to stoke it. “You’re running low.”

  “I have more out back. I suppose I should bring them in before nightfall.”

  “I’ll do it. I am entirely at your service.”

  Felicity laughed. “I baked a lemon cake. Would you care for a slice?”

  “Tea and lemon cake and your company? I can’t think of anything more pleasant.”

  She stared at his broad back as he went out the back door and gathered an armful of logs. She left the door ajar while she put out the cake and poured each of them a cup of tea. All was set out by the time he hurried back in a few moments later. “The devil! It’s freezing out there.” He stomped his feet at the entry to knock the snow off his boots.

  Felicity shut the door securely and followed him to the fireplace. She motioned to the refreshments on the corner table nearby. “I thought we’d be more comfortable seated beside the fire.”

  “An excellent idea.” He set the wood down in the bin and then grabbed two logs and placed them in the hearth, watching as they took blaze. “There, we shall be nice and warm.”

  “Thank you.” She’d already poured their tea and now cut him a slice of lemon cake. “I was going to put up some holiday decorations. Lady Poppy and Duchess Olivia dropped off several boxes of them last week. They’re filled with holly and ribbons and strings of dried cranberries.”

  He devoured the cake and took a sip of his tea. “Delicious, Miss Billings. Did they include any mistletoe?”

  “Oh, yes. They did.” She brought in the boxes, placed them on the table, and began to dig through them. She pulled out holly and ribbons, and finally the mistletoe.

  His smile was seductive. “Where are you going to hang it?”

  She knew just where, in the center of the shop between the bookshelves and her desk. Not that anyone would actually kiss her under it, but it would make for a good conversation piece. “Right there.” She pointed to the spot. “I have a ladder. If you hold it steady for me, I can put it up before you leave. But I’d rather put up the holly and velvet ribbons first.”

  “As you wish.” He slapped his hands to his thighs and gave an approving nod as he took a holly bough into his hands. “I am your servant and entirely at your disposal.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never had a servant before. I think you serve a higher authority than me, but I shall gladly borrow you for the afternoon.”

  She expected a jovial retort, but was surprised when he suddenly turned quite serious. He reached out, seemingly about to take her hand in his. “Miss Billings, I–”

  The bell on the door tinkled.

  He drew his hand away.

  She turned, now gripping the velvet ribbons and wondering what the vicar had been about to say to her. She’d find out later, she supposed. Who else was mad enough to be out in the middle of a blizzard? “Dr. Carmichael.” Her heart responded instantly, fluttering so that she found it difficult to catch her breath.

  She hadn’t expected to see him today.

  “Miss Billings,” he said with a barely perceptible nod, but his gaze was on the vicar as though he wished to slice the man in half with a broadsword. “Vicar,” he said with a more obvious nod in his direction. “What brings you here?”

  “I might ask you the same question.” He rose along with Felicity to greet the doctor. His lips curved in a devilish grin and his eyebrow arched quite wickedly, giving him a not very pious appearance. “I’m tending to my flock. What’s your excuse for visiting Miss Billings?”

  “Same as yours, I expect.” He shut the door behind him, but did not remove his coat or bother to shake off the small pile of snow collected on his shoulders. “Just looking after the citizens of Wellesford.”

  The vicar folded his arms across his chest. “Whether they’re ill or not? That’s mighty devoted of you.”

  Felicity felt decidedly uncomfortable standing between these two stubborn Scots as they stood staring at each other, arms folded across their puffed-out chests. She knew the vicar, Adam Carstairs, was originally from Inverness. It struck her suddenly as odd that she had no idea where Angus Carmichael was born and raised, for he’d never mentioned it in all the years they’d known each other. All he’d ever told her was that he had been born in Scotland. He’d never revealed where, or when he’d left, or ever spoken of his family.

  In truth, it seemed now that he’d been quite secretive about himself.

  How could she allow herself to fall in love with a man she knew nothing about?

  The two men were still staring each other down, much like two rams about to butt heads over a ewe in heat.

  Is this what these men thought of her? A love-starved spinster?

  How dare they!

  It was utterly humiliating.

  She marched to the vicar’s side and removed the holly boughs he was holding in his grasp. “I am not one of your sheep, and I do not need tending.”

  She set aside the decorations and marched to the doctor who had remained standing by the door. “Nor am I a sick, old goat.”

  She placed her hands on his solid arms, ignoring the tingles that immediately shot through her fingers at the mere touch and turned him toward the door. “Both of you…out! I do not need anyone’s assistance to decorate my shop.”

  “What did I do?” the vicar retorted, looking wounded. Of course, he still looked handsome as sin, and he knew it. But she was not going to be the ewe these two rams fought over because they were bored and needed a little sport.

  She’d known both of these men ever since they’d arrived in Wellesford. The do
ctor had lived here for years. The vicar was relatively new to town, but had been here long enough to know better.

  Neither one had ever singled her out as someone special. Why the sudden interest now?

  Oh, heavens!

  Had they placed a friendly wager between themselves, betting on who would succeed in kissing her first? Because everyone in town knew she had never been kissed. Did they believe she was desperate for it to happen before she turned thirty?

  She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at the vicar. “You only came by because you noticed Dr. Carmichael stop by the other day.”

  She turned to the doctor. “And why are you here today? Is it because you noticed the vicar was here and had the urge to snoop? Out! The both of you.”

  She handed the vicar his cloak, scarf, and gloves, pushing him out the door as he scrambled to put them on. The doctor had never taken off his cloak so she merely tipped her chin up and pointed to the door. “Felicity,” he said softly, “I–”

  “Not now, Angus. Leave me alone. I’m in no humor for the pair of you and your little-boy antics.” She was not a little ball the pair of them could kick back and forth for their amusement.

  She wanted to shut the door before he saw the tears forming in her eyes but couldn’t quite manage it.

  He might have looked remorseful as he watched the tears sting her eyes.

  So what if he did?

  She slammed the door in his face.

  Let him think of her as a deranged watering pot. In truth, she must have lost her wits to kick out two of the town’s most eligible bachelors. But that was just it, they had no sincere, romantic interest in her. They’d come here out of pity for the lonely spinster and she felt humiliated. “I’ll show you,” she muttered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and then grabbing the ladder.

  She was going to hang the mistletoe herself and kiss the very next gentleman who walked into the shop…well, no… She sighed. She didn’t know what she was going to do other than put up the mistletoe and figure it all out later.

  Her eyes were still watering, so she wiped them again, then propped the ladder against one of the bookshelves closest to the center of the shop. She climbed up with the mistletoe in hand. All she had to do was reach up a little, and over…and a little more…