He sucked in a breath and blew out another prayer. “I need Your help, Lord. Make me the man Mina expects me to be—and the man You want me to be. I will trust You in this.”
He strode into the small room, prepared for battle.
Ahead, Mina’s father stood behind a paper-strewn desk, shrugging out of a great, woolen travel cloak. Dried mud caked the hem, and as he hung the garment on a peg, clods of grey dirt fell to the floor.
“This man! This is the very man of which I speak.” To Will’s left, Mr. Grimlock swung out his arm, aiming his index finger like a javelin. “Not two minutes ago did I catch this man trifling with your daughter. The shame of it! The gall, right here beneath your own roof, sir.”
Mr. Scott continued to unwind a long muffler from about his neck, placing the wrapper on the same hook as his coat, and then finally, he turned. When his gaze met Will’s, his hazel eyes widened, his brows shooting toward his shock of reddish hair—the same colour as Mina’s, albeit shorn and faded to rust. “Mr. Barlow? Can it be you?”
Planting his feet, he nodded. “It is me, sir, the very same faithful patron who’s frequented your establishment this past year.”
“He’s a son of Venus. A rake!” Rage purpled Mr. Grimlock’s cheeks, spreading up to his ears. “I insist you cast this villain out immediately for the sake of your daughter’s virtue.”
Mr. Scott’s chest expanded as he looked from Grimlock to him. “Well, Mr. Barlow, what have ye to say?”
“Your daughter’s virtue is of my utmost concern—which is why I came here to speak with you today.” He paused, heart pounding. Crossroads were notorious for danger, especially this one, for he knew it well. Could he really go through with this again?
How could he not?
Perspiration beaded on his brow, and he had no doubt he looked as moist and quivery as the angry man next to him. Even so, he squared his shoulders and looked Mr. Scott straight in the eyes. “I ask your permission, Mr. Scott, to court your daughter.”
Mina’s father grabbed hold of the back of his desk chair with both hands. “I can hardly believe it,” he murmured.
“Mr. Scott!” Mr. Grimlock ducked his head like a bull about to charge. “I insist on my right of first claim to your daughter’s hand. We have a verbal agreement, do we not, sir?”
Will stiffened. Why had Mina never mentioned such a thing? Unless, perhaps, she didn’t know? He slid his gaze from Grimlock to Mina’s father, thinking on all the times the man had not quite filled his or Fitz’s mugs to the brim though they’d paid for fulls. Or the times the ale had tasted distinctly watered down. Mr. Scott was a shrewd businessman—but would he have cut such a deal with the boorish Mr. Grimlock?
“Well …” Mr. Scott blew out a long breath, his cheeks puffing, then lifted his face to Mr. Grimlock’s. “I did say if Mina didn’t take a fancy to any gent before the end of this year, the girl would be yours.”
Will’s hands curled into fists. Not that fathers didn’t frequently arrange marriages, but from the little he knew of Mr. Grimlock, the man was unsuitable for Mina in every way. Still … he might be able to use Mr. Scott’s unsavory proposition to his advantage. He dared a step closer to the desk. “It is not yet the end of the year, sir. There are four weeks remaining, and Mina’s taken a fancy to me.”
Her father shook his head, and it was hard to say which creased his brow more—the fatigue of travel or perplexity. “I never saw it coming,” he mumbled.
“Don’t be absurd.” Mr. Grimlock threw out his arms. “Mina can have no idea who is the better man for her. And clearly I am. What does this toff know of running an inn?”
“It is not the inn I intend to pursue.”
“You see?” Mr. Grimlock faced Mina’s father, thumping his chest with his thumb. “I am the superior choice.”
Of all the pretention. Percy might be able to learn a trick or two from this arrogant fellow.
Mr. Scott fell silent. Releasing his hold of the chair, he crossed his arms and stroked his chin, clearly deep in thought. That didn’t bode well. Mina’s father couldn’t seriously be considering the arrogant Mr. Grimlock as her future husband … could he?
Will strode forward, a righteous indignation burning in his gut, and planted his hands on Mr. Scott’s desk. “Ought not your daughter have a say in this? It is her life, after all, that we are bandying about as if she had no stake in the matter.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Scott gruffed out. “Perhaps ye’re right.”
“Absurd!” Mr. Grimlock raked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end.
Ignoring the outburst, Mina’s father lifted his chin and bellowed, “Mina? Come in here, girl. I know ye’re out there!”
Will edged back from the desk, chest tight and breath stuck in his throat. Mina likely wouldn’t choose Mr. Grimlock, but what if she didn’t choose him either?
Or worse, what if she did? Elizabeth had at one point too—and he still bore the puckered scars on his heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
Great Expectations
Mina? Come in here, girl. I know ye’re out there!”
Mina clutched great bunches of her skirt as Father’s voice boomed out his office door. Fatigue harshened his words. The timing of this conversation couldn’t have been worse, for her father was ever ill tempered after having suffered the inconveniences of travel. What would he say? What had been said? The milk she’d taken in her tea with Miss Whymsy soured in her stomach. Reading about such intrigues was far different from living it—and she wasn’t sure she liked it. At all.
Leaving behind the safety of the narrow corridor, she stepped into the lion’s den. Mr. Grimlock turned toward her, looking as if he might pounce at any moment. His hair stood on end in patches where he’d tugged it.
Father paced behind his desk, hands clasped at his back. His clothes were wrinkled, and he had yet to remove his hat.
And Will, God bless him … Will stood tall and proud, an island of strength in this sea of tension. He stepped aside, making enough room for her wide skirt, the reassurance in his blue gaze lending her support.
“Mina.” Father halted his pacing and faced her. “It’s come to this. Ye know I would see ye married, child. Ye must choose between these two suitors. Will you have Mr. Barlow or Mr. Grimlock?”
She pressed her lips tight to keep her jaw from dropping. Of course there was no contest, for Will had ever been her hero since the first day he’d sauntered into the Golden Egg. Was her dream really about to come true?
“This is preposterous!” A fine spray of spittle flew out along with Mr. Grimlock’s objection. “You hardly know the man.”
“Mr. Grimlock, if ye please.” Father skewered the fellow with a scowl. “Mr. Barlow has been a regular patron this past year, is a law clerk of good standing, and I’d wager makes the same amount to care for Mina as you. Am I right, sir?”
“Yes, sir.” William nodded. “And there’s the distinct possibility I am in line to inherit an estate.”
“What a load of tosh.” Mr. Grimlock turned to her, the movement wafting a sour odour of mouldered oranges. The stains beneath his arms spread in ever-darkening circles, especially when he threw up his hands. “That young swell could be saying anything to fill your head with fanciful thoughts. I offer you stability. The good Grimlock name. A life of pattern, predictability, and solid parameters. Don’t be a fool.”
Her hands curled into fists. He knew nothing of Will and even less of her to think she desired to spend the rest of her days in such a lackluster fashion. “Mr. Grimlock,” she said through gritted teeth. “I thank you for your offer, yet I choose Mr. Bar
low.”
She shot her gaze to her father, unwilling to see one more dot of sweat pop out on Mr. Grimlock’s forehead. “There, Father, you have my decision.”
“No! Impossible.” Mr. Grimlock stamped his foot like a petulant tot. “My offer is rescinded. I will have nothing more to do with this inn or you people.”
Before anyone could say anything further, Mr. Grimlock whirled and stalked out the door, leaving behind nothing but his ringing voice and a blackened scuff on the wooden floor where his shoe had left a mark.
“Well,” Father murmured. “I didn’t expect to return home to this.”
Mina stiffened. Was he cross that she’d ruined his chances of expanding the inn with Mr. Grimlock as his manager?
Almost imperceptibly at first, a slow smile lifted her father’s lips, growing in size until it squinted his eyes a bit. “But … I couldn’t be happier.”
She let out a breath, and her shoulders sagged with the relief of it all.
“Nor could I, sir.” William grinned down at her, the gleam in his eyes so pure and brilliant, her knees weakened.
Still … she bit her lip. Something wasn’t right. While everything in her yearned for this to be real, for William Barlow to be her beau, did he truly yearn to be hers? Or was he courting her merely to save his uncle? A good reason, noble and compassionate, but one that left her feeling a bit melancholy. Like a child who received a gift-wrapped box, the exact shape and size of a longed for treasure, yet after untying the ribbons and peeling back the paper, finding the box to be empty.
“Sir.” William stepped forward. “I know this is all still new to you, but I request to bring your daughter to my uncle’s estate for Christmas.”
“Meeting the family, eh?” Father scratched his jaw, his fingers rasping on the whiskers sprouted during his travels. “But not yet. Christmas is a moneymaker for the Golden Egg. I cannot possibly spare the time to play chaperone with you two when there’ll be patrons aplenty for me to see to. No, no … after the holidays is best.”
She exchanged a worried glance with Will. After Christmas would be too late. But if Father couldn’t travel with her, then who? She’d need someone discreet. Someone available. Someone …
She clenched her hands to keep from snapping her fingers. “What about Miss Whymsy? The old dear has no one besides us to make merry with during the holiday. Could she not travel with me, if she is agreeable?”
For a moment, her father said nothing, just narrowed his eyes as if studying her suggestion beneath a magnifying glass. “Aye,” he drawled. “If she is agreeable.”
Finally he doffed his hat and hung it on a peg, then turned and faced Will. “But ye’ll have my daughter back here for the Christmas Eve party. It’s tradition, and I will not be moved on it.”
Will nodded. “I shall have her returned for your famous oyster stew, sir.”
She peeked at Will. He’d made the promise with such ease, but how on earth would he keep it?
“Very well. Off with the two o’ ye then.” Her father swept his hand toward the door. “I’ve a handsome amount of paperwork to tend to before dinner. Between the three of us,” Father lowered his voice and tucked his chin. “Mr. Grimlock weren’t all that skilled at innkeeping.”
She couldn’t help but grin.
“Thank you, sir.” William bowed his head.
“Don’t be thanking me. Mina’s the one that chose ye.” He hitched his thumb at her over his shoulder as he strode back to his desk.
Stunned at the whole turn of the afternoon, Mina padded out of the office and into the corridor, Will on her heels.
“He’s right, you know.”
Will’s voice turned her around, and she lifted one brow. “About?”
“I ought to be thanking you, and I do.” The dimples on his cheeks deepened as his grin grew. “This may turn out to be the best Christmas ever.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm. Indeed, it could be the best Christmas ever—if Will truly cared for her. But her smile waned as she searched his face. Did he really want to court her? Or was this all just a ruse?
Tired of half truths and outright deception, her smile faded altogether. A heroine wouldn’t waste away with such doubts but would take a bold stand. She swallowed. Could she be a heroine? Did she even have it in her?
Only one way to find out.
She lifted her chin. “While I hope for your sake, and your uncle’s, that this Christmas will turn out for the best, I feel that cannot happen without the truth being spoken. I insist you tell your uncle that we are not married, yet are moving toward such, as soon as possible after we arrive. I cannot stay beneath his roof under such pretense, and in fact, I will not.”
She clamped her mouth shut. My, but that had been a bold thing to say. Truly heroic. But what would Will think of her outburst? Would he turn around and march back into Father’s office, rescinding his offer as thoroughly as had Mr. Grimlock?
His eyes widened, and for an eternity, he said nothing. Just stared. Eventually, his head dipped an acknowledgment. “You’re right of course. I will tell my uncle as soon as I’m able.”
“Promise?” she pressed.
“Promise.” He bent, and his lips brushed against her forehead.
What he said after that was a mystery. Probably some kind of goodbye, for he strode off and left her standing in the corridor, her knees weak. She lifted her fingertips to her brow, wishing, hoping, needing his words to be true.
All of them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She was truest … in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.
A Tale of Two Cities
Are ye sure about this?”
Mina met Effie’s gaze in the mirror, purposely avoiding eye contact with the large shears gripped in her friend’s hand. Despite Effie’s skill with scissors, there would still be patches of shorter hair to have to cover up until it all grew back to the same length. But it was only hair, after all—a trifling thing compared to Mina’s other worries. Though she tried not to think on it, she couldn’t help but wonder how Will would talk his uncle into allowing them to leave the estate before Christmas. Would it be a long-enough visit to expose Percy’s wicked intentions? And the question that really niggled … was Will courting her only as a means to an end, or was he truly fond of her?
“Mina?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Shoring herself up by gripping the edge of her chair, she nodded. “Yes, I am certain. Proceed.”
“All right then. ‘Ere goes.”
The scissors snipped, and she shivered.
“Hold still, love. Be bricky for me. Don’t want to cut too much.”
Long locks of reddish-brown hair landed on the floorboards, and with each one, the world turned more and more watery. Don’t think it. Don’t do it. But despite her mental admonition, the last memory of her mother rose like a spectre, pushing tears overboard and dampening her cheeks. Oh, Mama. The thin woman in a mouse-coloured gown had sat on the cold flagstones of the asylum floor, arms curled about her knees, rocking and rocking and rocking … the shorn hairs on her head sticking out like pins in a cushion. Had her mother even noticed when her hair had been cut?
Mina sucked in a shaky breath. How different might life have been if Mother hadn’t lost the baby, hadn’t grieved so hard that both her heart and head had broken?
“There we be. How do ye—Mina?” The shears landed with a clatter on the vanity and Effie lowered to her knees, taking both of Mina’s hands in her own. “Are ye all right?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile and squeezed Effie’s fingers before pulling back, then dabbed away the gruesome memory and the dampness on her face with the back of her hand. “I am fine. Just a bit melancholy, though I’ve no right to be. This hair will make a beautiful fob for Father’s watch, and I am grateful you took the time today to help me snip it. I can’t wait to see the smile on his face when we exchange gifts on Christmas Eve.”
Effie cocked her head, studyin
g her. Apparently satisfied, she bent and collected the locks from the floor. “So, when are ye goin’ to tell me?”
Frowning, Mina angled her head one way then another, studying Effie’s trimming. “Tell you what?”
“About your plans for Christmas in the country.”
Her hands dropped. So did her jaw. “You know? How?”
Setting the hair on the vanity, Effie lifted a brow at her in the mirror. “I ran into Miss Whymsy late yesterday at the milliner’s. She were buying a bit o’ lace to dress up her hat. Ain’t no call for such fanciness just to be volunteering at the institute, so I got it out of her that she’s attending you on a little jaunt to the country for Christmas.”
She shook her head. The woman was a wonder. “Effie, you could get a marble statue to spill its secrets.”
“Ha! I ain’t that good. That’s all what she told me. I don’t know where yer goin’ or why, or how you even managed to talk Miss Whymsy into taking a leave from her volunteering. She just said, and I quote, ‘Miss Scott and I are venturing out on a small excursion to the countryside. Do be a dear and check on Miss Minton for me in the meantime.’” Effie picked up a brush and tapped it against one palm.
Mina smirked. “I suppose you won’t leave here today without me filling you in?”
A brilliant grin brightened Effie’s plain face. “Well, it’ll take me a good few minutes to style yer hair, and ye’ve nothing better to do while ye sit there.”
“Very well.” She sighed as Effie began brushing. “Remember that dinner I told you about, the one at Will’s Uncle Barlow’s?”
“Aye.”
“I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. Now Uncle Barlow has invited us to share Christmas with him in the country.”
The brush stopped midstroke next to her ear, and Effie’s wide-eyed gaze met hers in the mirror. “But what of the Christmas Eve celebration here at the Golden Egg? It’s tradition! Ye can’t miss that.”
Once Upon a Dickens Christmas Page 24
