Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  He swallowed. “So you do feel something for him?”

  “What is it to you if I do?”

  He raised a cavalier shoulder, though his stomach contorted. “Nothing. I simply never thought you could be interested in a man of the church. But I suppose you have changed.”

  Her nostrils flared. “As have you. As I recall, the Matthew I grew up with would not choose to court half the women in Yorkshire.”

  Guilt shifted his conscience to the forefront of his mind, and his eyes dropped to the floor. Of course Meg would think such a thing. No doubt he was now a philanderer in her eyes. “I am not courting any woman in Yorkshire.”

  “Well you have fooled us all then. What with how you’ve been carrying on, I’d have thought you eager to jump forth into matrimony.”

  “I have no desire for my life to change in such a way.” His tone fell flat. He wasn’t sure what he wished for anymore.

  “Well I wish for my life to change,” she whispered, pointing at herself. “So I shall return to Mr. Kempthorne’s side and speak with him for the rest of the night if I wish.”

  She raised her eyebrows, as if daring him to stop her. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to fall for the bait, but when she took a step away from him, he reached out, grasping her arm.

  “You can’t,” he said, unaware of what he was even saying. “He…he wouldn’t make you happy.”

  But I would.

  He squeezed his eyes shut to dispel the thought. He shouldn’t be thinking such a thing. Not about his friend. Not when he wanted his life to remain the same.

  His glove slipped against hers, and she pulled out of his grasp in a swift movement. “You do not have the right to say such a thing to me, Matthew Pratt. You are not my brother, nor are you my intended.” She took a step closer, the smell of peppermint overpowering his senses. “And I will not wait forever.”

  Her blue eyes flashed, and his breathing stopped. Her words echoed in his mind, his heart thrumming against his ribs. Confusion clouded his judgment once more as his eyes dropped to her pink lips. He moved a fraction closer, but she shook her head and walked away, disappearing into the small crowd.

  Matthew stared at the floor, ignoring the curious glances he received from the others near enough to have seen their heated argument.

  What had she meant, she would not wait forever? For what, to change her life? To marry Mr. Kempthorne? He was repulsed by the very idea.

  “You, my dear brother, are a fool.”

  Matthew started. Louisa? When had she moved to stand beside him? “What do you mean? Did you hear…”

  “Yes, every word. And you’re even more senseless than I thought.”

  He scowled, finding Meg across the room speaking once again with Mr. Kempthorne. “You are calling me senseless when Meg is the one who has gone and fallen in love with the vicar?”

  Louisa scoffed. “She doesn’t love the vicar. She loves…”

  Matthew’s attention whipped to his sister’s. “Who?”

  She simply shook her head. “I will not push you one way or another, brother, but after being witness to your behavior this evening, things are finally clear to me. As I said before, you are a fool.” With a look of disappointment, she walked away.

  “Louisa?”

  She ignored him. He stifled a growl of frustration. What had she meant about pushing him, about his behavior? He contemplated hounding her until she responded to his questions. He wanted to know, needed to know who had won his friend’s affection.

  But when he glanced over his shoulder once more at Meg, his breathing hitched. Her eyes were upon him, wide. Revealing. Fire flamed within him, spreading throughout his limbs.

  She quickly pulled her gaze away, but Matthew remained staring.

  No, there was no earthly way it was possible. He imagined it. Louisa imagined it. But as the moments ticked by, the mists of confusion faded, and his thoughts cleared.

  Meg loved…him?

  Memories of the last few days flashed through his mind. How she’d blushed at his compliments, asked him to kiss her, behaved strangely each time he’d shown attention to another woman.

  He placed a hand over his mouth, rubbing his forefinger over his upper lip. They had always been simply friends. Had it changed for her while he was at school? Was she pursuing the vicar because she thought he was interested in other women?

  Was he interested in other women…or only with Meg?

  Blast these cursed bargains. He never should have agreed to them.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He needed to gain control of his thoughts. He only had one woman left after tonight. A simple kiss with Meg and a false thought that perhaps she was in love with him—and he with her—could not prevent him from success.

  Yet, as her laughter drifted toward him, laughter induced from Mr. Kempthorne, Matthew’s neck tightened, as if one movement might cause his spine to snap in two like a piece of gingerbread.

  Very well. He did not know for certain if Meg had feelings for him or if he had feelings for her. But one thing was for certain, the mere thought of his best friend falling in love with another man was driving him quite certainly into madness.

  Chapter Nine

  Matthew slowed his step as he approached the drawing room the next morning. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t have the courage to face her, not after all that had been revealed—or rather, hinted at—the evening before.

  After the party, he’d spent half the night awake, stewing over his jealousy of Mr. Kempthorne and over Louisa’s suggested information.

  Matthew didn’t know what to do. He’d never been jealous of other men before, especially concerning their attention to Meg. Then again, his heart had never pumped so forcefully when she’d entered a room, and his brow had certainly never sweat at the mere thought of her.

  He pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead. What was he to do with himself and with this information? And more importantly, how was their friendship to remain the same, how was his life to remain the same, with such a revelation?

  He shook his head, tucking the cloth away and squaring his shoulders. He didn’t have to make any life-altering decisions right now. After all, he wasn’t about to pursue his newfound feelings if he wasn’t certain Meg felt the same for him first. He trusted his sister, but what if she was wrong? He couldn’t risk the possible rejection. If Meg did truly love him, well, then…he would decide what to do when the time came.

  All he needed to do now was find the courage he’d misplaced that morning and be brave enough to speak with Meg. Or just look at her. Either would do for now.

  With a resolute nod, Matthew strode down the corridor, but he paused again just outside of the room. This time, it was not from fear but anger. Anger produced from voices coming from the drawing room. Voices that should not be at Hollridge at all, but in Scotland.

  Meg’s parents. What the devil were they doing there? They weren’t supposed to return to Haxby for months.

  Mrs. Baker’s smooth voice sailed toward Matthew as he remained out of sight. “How pleased I am to hear that you perform for others, Margaret. Though, I should like it if you would play for us at Stoneworth every now and again.”

  Matthew nearly bared his teeth at her use of Meg’s given name, the name his friend had always hated. Matthew had been the one to suggest the use of a nickname, so ‘Meg’ had been born and used ever since by those who truly knew her.

  Unlike her own parents.

  Meg’s voice was soft as she responded. “I’ve tried to play for you, Mother, but you always say Stoneworth causes the pianoforte to echo too loudly within its walls to sound pleasant.”

  Matthew could only imagine her downcast eyes. He couldn’t bear the timidity in her tone. He needed to help her, to rescue her.

  He froze at the word, pulling back. Rescue. He’d thought Meg had required help to escape Mr. Kempthorne the night before, and he’d been woefully mistaken. Perhaps he was wrong now, as well? Perhaps she truly ha
d changed so drastically that she wished to be with her parents now?

  But he couldn’t remain outside, doing nothing forever. He would simply enter the drawing room and wait to offer his help until he knew for certain Meg wished for it.

  With a slow and steady pace, he entered the room. Meg didn’t meet his eyes. Was that due to her parents’ arrival, or because of their argument last night?

  “Mr. Matthew Pratt,” Mrs. Baker said after Matthew bowed. “I am surprised to see you here, what with how often you are away at university.”

  His lips in a smile felt as unnatural as Meg being silent in their drawing room. “Well, I am surprised to see you both here. Did Scotland not suit this year?”

  Mrs. Baker laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. It always suits. As do our dear friends the Malcolms. I trust you remember our mentioning them?”

  How could Matthew—or anyone in Haxby, for that matter—forget? It was no secret the Bakers enjoyed the company of the glorious Malcolms to anyone in town, even their own daughter.

  Mr. Baker held his hands behind his back. “We are simply here because, well, we have missed our dear Margaret so very much, we couldn’t bear to be away from her any longer.”

  Matthew’s eyes fell on Meg. Her smile was weak, even more so than Matthew’s.

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Baker said. “We would have sent a letter, but that would have taken far too long to await her reply, so we have simply come in person to ask the question ourselves.”

  Matthew looked back to the Bakers. “Forgive me, what question?”

  They looked expectantly at their daughter. Meg finally raised her eyes to meet his. They were cold, void of any emotion. “My parents have come to request my presence in Scotland for the remainder of the winter.”

  Matthew’s lips parted, the breath pressing from his lungs. They were taking her away?

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Mrs. Baker said, holding her hands to her chest. “We have always longed for Margaret to join us. How pleased we are that the time has finally arrived. You see, the Malcolms have a distant cousin that have come to stay with them this winter. He is very close to Margaret’s age, and we believe she will make a wonderful addition to our now extended party. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  A near-tangible barrier separated the room. On one side, the Bakers smiled away, speaking about the pipers who would perform for them during their visit and about the sights in Edinburgh they would see. They were completely unaware of anyone but themselves. On the other side, Mother, Father, and Louisa remained silent, lips downcast and shoulders sunken as they listened to the Bakers piping on.

  Between them all, Matthew stared at Meg. His heart was sinking fast, plummeting through the air with no end in sight.

  Since she was a child, Meg had longed for her parents to bring her to Scotland, but they’d constantly denied her request. The Pratts were always left to comfort the crying Meg, who couldn’t understand why her parents appeared to love the Malcolms more than her.

  As she’d grown older, her tears had shifted, appearing instead when her parents would return, for then she would have to live with them at Stoneworth, forever in the shadows of the memory of the Malcolms.

  Now, with the invitation to join her parents in Scotland finally extended, Meg should have been pleased, and Matthew for her. So why was she on the verge of tears, her chin trembling and fingers clasped together on her lap? And why was Matthew fighting his desire to pull her in his arms and beg her to stay?

  Was it because neither of them wanted her to join her parents? Because they did not wish her to leave the Pratts? Or because they did not wish to leave each other?

  “And, oh, the Malcolms are sure to enjoy your company now,” Mrs. Baker said. “They have always longed to—”

  “When?” Matthew blurted out. Mrs. Baker turned to him with a disapproving brow. He cleared his throat. “Pardon me, but when are you to return to Scotland?”

  “At our earliest convenience,” Mr. Baker responded. “We know Margaret enjoys the holidays here at Hollridge, and I understand your family is hosting the Twelfth Night revels this year, so we shall leave the morning after.”

  Two days? He had two days left with Meg? Matthew had an entire week before he would return to school, an entire week he’d thought he’d be able to spend with Meg, now that his bargain with Mother was nearly complete.

  He ground his teeth together. That blasted, cursed bargain. If he hadn’t wasted every moment with the chattering, preaching, dull women, he could have spent more time with Meg. Now she was leaving, and he didn’t want her to.

  But did she?

  Her eyes were still lowered, but when she reached up to swipe a quick hand at her cheek, he knew she was brushing away tears. Tears born from her parents’ arrival, tears born from their sudden attention. Attention that should have been there from the start.

  He stared down at her, willing her to look up at him until slowly, her eyes met his. The pain within them pierced his heart. He longed to embrace her, to tell her everything was well, to do something, anything, to have her smile return, as he did when they were children.

  But with their families in the room, all he could do was remain where he stood. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed out to her, praying for her to find the comfort she so desperately needed.

  She looked away, the tendons in her neck standing out as she drew in a deep breath. Then suddenly, she stood, excusing herself with a bobbed curtsy and tearing from the room.

  The Bakers stared at the empty doorway, stunned. The Pratts exchanged concerned glances. Matthew nearly darted from the room after her, but Mrs. Baker’s words stopped him.

  “Why, whatever is the matter with that girl?”

  Matthew’s parents eyed each other in search of an explanation, but Matthew’s anger surged. “Can you not see? She doesn’t wish to go—”

  “Oh,” Louisa interrupted with wide eyes. “I believe Meg spoke of writing a letter this morning to a friend in London. She must have forgotten to send it earlier. I’m sure she did not wish to interrupt you.”

  “Well, she did,” Mrs. Baker muttered, glancing to her husband. “I had hoped her impetuous behavior would have been worked out by now, what with living here for so long. The Malcolms certainly won’t approve of such conduct. Neither will their cousin.” She turned to Matthew’s mother. “I do hope her bad behavior has not troubled you over the years.”

  Matthew fisted his hands, his nails digging into his palms. How he wished to pull the woman from her seat and shake sense into her. Did she not realize the true reasoning behind Meg’s departure? Did she not realize how she was hurting their only daughter? How they were always hurting her?

  “I assure you, Meg has been nothing but a pure delight in our home,” Mother responded. “We are certainly sorry to see her leaving so soon.”

  Mother must have seen Matthew’s reddened face and growing scowl, for she glanced at him then sent a quick toss of her head toward the door.

  Matthew understood in an instant. Without hesitation, he left the drawing room behind and went in search of Meg. He strode down the corridor, calling out her name until he reached the front hall and saw her dress disappear around the corner at the top of the stairs.

  “Meg? Wait a moment, please.”

  When she didn’t respond, he darted up the steps two at a time, pausing once he reached the top of the stairs. Meg hadn’t gone into her room, as he’d expected. Instead, she stood gazing out of the large window in the corridor, overlooking the frozen gardens of Hollridge.

  Slowly, he moved to join her, but her eyes remained fixed outside. The clouded skies and snow-covered countryside cast a white light across Meg. Her blonde curls shone brightly, and her nose and cheeks were as red as the berries they’d gathered for the house. Only this redness was caused from her tears, not the cold.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  She nodded, though she didn’t say a word.

  “I’m so sorry they’ve come. Had you any warning?”

/>   “No. They arrived this morning, while I was alone in the drawing room.” She dropped her eyes to the window ledge she leaned up against. “They are quite adamant that I join them. They spoke to me at length about the Malcolms’ cousin before your family joined us. My parents think that he and I…that we would make a fine match.”

  Matthew flinched at the deep ache inside him, as if someone were carving a hole in his chest to tear out his heart.

  This was the true meaning behind her parents’ return. They had finally found a reason to care for their daughter—because she would provide them a way to become family with the Malcolms. He didn’t need to wonder if Meg was aware of their intentions. Her watery eyes and sunken shoulders spoke of how she felt on the issue.

  Still, he couldn’t assume she was as disgusted by this revelation as he was. The only way to know for certainty was to ask. “And…what do you think about their plans?”

  She glanced at him sidelong. “You know me well enough, Matthew, to know how I feel. I wish to join my parents and the Malcolms no more than I wish to be coerced into a marriage purely for the sake of my parents’ desire for familial ties.”

  Matthew knew the truth before she spoke it, but hearing it aloud patched the missing pieces in his chest, allowing his heart to resume its steady beating. “So you won’t be joining them then?”

  She lifted her arms half-heartedly in a shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose I must, though, for what other choice do I have?”

  You can remain here.

  Matthew shook the thought from his mind, turning away to stare at the trees in the distance. Heavy snow fell from the upper branches, sending the rest of the snow to cascade in a white waterfall to the ground.

  He knew Meg had secretly been longing for an invitation from her parents for years. If not to join them, at least to purely be thought of. For him to now suggest she remain at Hollridge simply because he wished her to, when he would be leaving shortly for school, would be unthinkably selfish.

  “You know you have other choices, Meg, and I believe you know what they are. But I can speak for my parents and Louisa in saying that we want you to do what you wish to do. Though, I cannot say the same for your parents.”