Mina stepped into paradise.
She’d read of bedchambers like this. Walls papered with blue velveteen. Windows overlooking a wonderland of snow-encrusted tree branches. A merry fire glowed in the hearth, and thick rugs added warmth to the room. On one wall was a mahogany desk with a matching chair. Near the fireplace sat two wingbacks stuffed full enough that one might sleep the night through in them without a crick in the neck. A small table rested against another wall with a full tea set. Against the third wall stood a vanity filled with bottles and brushes and a mirror that bounced back light from the windows. But as her gaze landed on the bed—canopied and ruffled and with mattresses so high, a step stool stood nearby—her stomach twisted.
That bed was clearly meant for two.
Flames shot from her stomach to her cheeks. She whirled to face Will. “You cannot possibly stay in here with me. You must speak with your uncle today. Now!”
“Shh.” He lifted a finger to his lips and closed the door behind him. “Percy and Alice weren’t far behind us.”
She retreated a step. He followed. He wasn’t seriously thinking of spending the afternoon with her here? Alone? This was taking things too far. Far too far. A hero would not even think such a thing. “This is indecent.”
She sidestepped him, but he blocked her.
“Mina, you have my word. I will tell my uncle as soon as the opportunity presents itself, but he’s clearly preoccupied with your Miss Whymsy for the moment. Let’s give him time to get her settled. We’ve only just arrived.”
“Well, you cannot remain with me behind a closed door for the afternoon.”
“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Was he as knotted up about the situation then? “I shall think of something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” His hand dropped. “But if nothing else, there’s a spare room at the end of this corridor. I’ll wait until no one’s about, then slip off down there.”
“If my father hears of this—”
“He won’t. Mina, please.” He closed the distance between them and rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a little squeeze. “We ought not give Percy and Alice anything more to wonder about, hmm? All will be well. I promise. Try to relax.”
Relax? When she stood in a bedchamber alone with Will Barlow? Riding in a carriage with the man had been scandalous enough, but this was immoral. She pulled away.
“Mina, I am sorry, truly. I should have seen this coming, and I didn’t. Forgive me?” He dipped his head, looking at her through his lashes. A lad with his hand caught in the sweets jar couldn’t have looked more contrite.
She sighed. How was she to stay cross with such a look? “Very well.”
“That’s my girl.” His head perked up, and he strode to the door. After a glance into the corridor, he looked over his shoulder at her. “All’s clear. Rest up. Your trunk will soon be brought ‘round, and I shall meet you downstairs later for dinner. Agreed?”
She nodded, for there was nothing more she could do save storm out of there and tell Will’s uncle herself.
As soon as Will shut the door behind him, she wandered the room a bit, trailing a finger over much of the finery. Memorizing it all. Was this how Esther Summerson had felt when she’d first arrived at Bleak House?
A yawn stretched her jaw, and the quilted counterpane on the big bed called to her. After travelling all day, it would be lovely to close her eyes, just for a few minutes.
But by the time a rap on the door jolted her awake and a white-aproned maid peeked her head in, more than minutes had passed. Darkness filled the room.
“Might I help you dress for dinner, ma’am?”
She blinked, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder to see to whom the maid offered her services, though it could be none other than her—and that sent a thrill through her. She smiled at the woman as the servant scurried about the room, lighting lamps. “Thank you, but no need. I shall manage quite well on my own.”
“As you wish, ma’am.”
The maid was followed by a footman with her small trunk hefted up on one shoulder. He set it down next to a large wardrobe, then with a bob of his head, exited as well.
Mina crossed to her trunk and lifted out her dresses. There were only two—her very best—and she frowned at them both. By the third night, when she’d have to repeat one, surely Alice would have something to say about it. But perhaps by then, the truth would be out, and there’d be no reason to stay any longer.
She hung up one dress, then worked her way into the other. By the time she pinned up her hair, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror, satisfied that she looked her best, leastwise for tonight. After one more visit to her trunk, where she pulled out a small pouch containing the second-chance coin, she tucked the bit of gold into her pocket. She might not need it tonight, but when dining with Will’s cousins, one never knew.
Stepping out into the corridor, she shivered. The air was far more chill than her chamber, so she upped her pace and descended the stairs to ground level. Surely the dining room was here somewhere, though she should have asked Will the location.
She passed the sitting room, and near the end of another passageway, two doors stood open. Golden light poured out of each. Could be either, so for no other reason than a whim, she ducked into the door on the right.
Then gasped. Books lined three walls, and on the fourth, at least twenty-five pairs of eyes stared back at her. Drawn toward the gilt-framed portraits, she padded inside and wandered from picture to picture.
One was surely a dark-haired Uncle Barlow with his apple-cheeks shaven clean and face smoothed of wrinkles. She cocked her head. He might almost be … yes, with that straight nose and strong jawline, the resemblance to Will was stunning.
To the left of Uncle Barlow’s portrait was a shadow-faced fellow with a severe brow and overly large eyes. The man was seated, and beside him posed a bony woman in a brown, empire-waisted gown. Both frowned. Each looked as if they’d prefer to run off to another canvas rather than live immortally together in this painting. Were these Percy’s parents?
She sidestepped over to the other side of Uncle Barlow’s picture, and her breath hitched as she looked into Will’s eyes. The hair on this man was a shade darker, but all the same, the features matched Will’s exactly … save for one thing. There was a certain sadness to this portrait. The kind that called out from the years like a whisper from a grave. She stepped closer, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Was this Will’s father? And if so, why was his mother not featured here as well?
“I thought I might find you here.”
A deep voice turned her around, and she slapped a hand to her chest. “Uncle Barlow, you startled me.”
“Sorry, my dear, but no need to fear in this house. To my knowledge, there are no ghosts—Christmas or otherwise—roaming about. Once a Barlow is dead, he is well and truly dead.” He chuckled as he crossed the rug to stand next to her. “I see you’ve found William’s father, and no wonder, for my nephew is the very image of my brother Edward. Both of them too handsome for their own good.”
“He is so young here. He can’t be much older than Will is now.”
“True, and this is how I shall always remember him. Carefree. Laughter at the ready. Holding the world in two hands and tossing it about like a ball. I admired that about him, though I never spoke it aloud, for elder brothers rarely do.” Uncle Barlow cleared his throat, then murmured, “In my quieter moments, I yet miss him keenly.”
Sorrow thickened his words. He must’ve loved his brother very much to still feel such strong emotion. Was that why he’d given Will a second chance, perhaps? Had it been some kind of offering of honour to a lost brother?
Pulling her gaze from the portrait, she turned to Uncle Barlow. “What happened to Will’s father?”
“It is a sad story, one best told while seated.” He turned and sank into one of the chairs near the hearth, then waited for her to take the other. “Edward was the youngest o
f us three Barlow boys. And as you know, the youngest often are the wiliest. I suppose they have to be, to keep up with their elders. But Edward was more than that. He was a sunburst on a clouded day, always ready with a laugh, and oh, what a charmer. He could lure a penny from a miser’s purse with nothing more than one of his grins.”
She smiled. “He sounds like William.”
“Indeed.” Uncle Barlow grinned as well, but then as memories played over his face, his mirth faded. “He was.”
“What happened to him?” she whispered.
For a long while, Uncle Barlow stared into the fire, saying nothing. Did he even know she was still in the room? Just at the point when she was sure he wouldn’t answer, he pushed up from his chair and stood with his back to the hearth, flipping up his suit tails to warm his backside. “My brother Edward died not long after your William was born. Both he and William’s mother were taken by a fever. It is God’s grace alone that little William survived.”
“How awful.” She pulled the words out of a great storehouse of sorrow. The pain of growing up without a mother was bad enough, but to not have a father either?
“You sound as if you’ve held hands with loss yourself, my dear.”
Shoving down a rising melancholy, she nodded, eager to change the subject. “Uncle Barlow, I wonder if William spoke with you this afternoon?”
“I’m afraid I was a bit indisposed.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Your Miss Whymsy is delightful, and I confess to overindulging in her company. I took her on a tour of the entire grounds.”
“I see.” So, the old fellow still didn’t know the truth. She pressed her lips flat.
Uncle Barlow returned to his chair. “What was it William wanted to speak to me about?”
Absently, she ran her hands along her legs, smoothing wrinkles from her gown. Would Will be very cross if she told his uncle herself? But was this not the perfect opportunity? And they had agreed he should know.
“Uncle Barlow,” she began before she could change her mind. “There is something you need to know about Will and me.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
Trying not to think of the disappointment in his eyes when he found out about the deception, she pressed on. “We are not actually—”
“There you are. I thought as much.” Percy’s voice boomed through the open door, and they turned. Will’s cousin frowned at her, then shifted his gaze to Uncle Barlow. “We are all waiting on you, Uncle, and have been for some time.”
The old fellow patted her knee. “We shall have to continue this later, my dear.” Rising, he held out his arm and winked, speaking for her alone. “It promises to be a lively evening, for I’ve taken the liberty of seating Miss Whymsy next to me. I don’t suppose Alice shall like it, but then neither Alice nor Percy seem to like much of anything, eh?”
She rose and took his arm, fingering her pocket with her free hand. Maybe she would need that second-chance coin tonight after all.
For hopefully she’d get a second chance to tell Uncle Barlow the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.
Charles Dickens
The evening stretched into a long, sharp dagger and took a deadlier turn when Uncle Barlow and Miss Whymsy decided to retire early. Something about overdoing the day. Will grimaced as he set down his untouched glass of sherry. After parrying Alice’s cutting remarks and deflecting Percy’s verbal swipes, he’d had enough. “Come along, Mina. It’s been a long day for us as well.” He offered her his hand, then glanced at his cousins. “Good night.”
“Hmm. Perhaps,” Percy drawled.
Ignoring whatever the scoundrel had in mind, Will led Mina from the room more exhausted than he’d ever been. Normally he would have laughed off such vitriol. Dodged his cousins’ jabs as cleverly as he might a bucket of slop being dumped out a Cheapside window. But when Mina became the sole target of such venom, he’d had no choice but to usher her out before he popped Percy in the nose.
As they strolled toward the staircase, Mina’s gaze sought his. “You know you cannot stay in my chamber.”
“Of course not.” He winked down at her, hoping the lighthearted action would calm her fears.
“But where will you sleep?”
“Don’t fret. I’ve got things under control.” For a moment, he wished he had drunk that sherry, if for nothing more than to wash away the bitter taste his words left in his mouth. Under control? Ha! A spinning kaleidoscope couldn’t have been more crazed than this topsy-turvy day.
Mina paused and turned to him at the foot of the stairs. “Do you suppose your uncle would mind if I brought a book with me to bed?”
“I should think he’d be delighted and”—he leaned toward her and tapped her on the nose—“would want to hear your thoughts on it when you’re finished.”
He wheeled about and led her to the library, where she seemed more than at home. He watched her as she roamed from shelf to shelf, her delight doing strange things to his heart. She belonged here, surrounded by books as if they were old friends. Running her fingers along each shelf, she’d pause with a mysterious twitch to her lips, and for some odd reason, he wished this moment to never end. Was this how it was for God to gaze upon His creation as they enjoyed His gifts?
As she passed near a wall sconce, soft light teased out the coppery glimmers in her hair, all done up and begging for release. How long would those locks fall? How silky the feel? His fingers curled in reflex and—sweet blessed heavens … what was he thinking?
Finally, she pulled a book off a shelf, and a little coo caught in her throat. Judging by the way she cradled the thing to her breast, she’d found a favorite. As she rambled back to where he waited for her at the door, her smile faltered for a moment—when her gaze slid to the portrait of his father.
“Will …” She bit her lip as she drew close to him, bringing the sweet scent of the rosemary water she’d freshened up with. “I hope you don’t mind, but your uncle told me the sad tale of your father and mother earlier today.”
He stiffened. Father … and mother? What could the old fellow possibly say about her? “What do you mean?”
“How they died of a fever. I had no idea you grew up without knowing either of them. It was hard enough losing my mother as a child. I can’t imagine not having my father around. I am sorry for your loss.”
Compassion shimmered in Mina’s eyes, and the fish he’d eaten at dinner flipped in his gut. All the deceptions, the secrets, knotted into a great net, trapping him and squeezing the breath from his lungs. This had to stop. Surely he owed Mina some morsels of truth—despite his mother’s wishes. Besides, it wasn’t as if he were telling Uncle Barlow.
“Mina, there’s something my uncle didn’t tell you, because he doesn’t know it himself. But I feel I must be honest with you, for you’ve suffered enough untruths at my request. My mother is, well … she’s still alive, though for how much longer, I am not certain. She is very ill.”
“She’s not dead?” The words rolled from her lips as if she tasted each one and couldn’t decide whether she liked the flavour. “While I am happy for you that your mother is yet amongst the living, why does your uncle think—why do you allow him to think—she is dead? I don’t understand.”
Of course she didn’t. He’d barely understood it himself that day six months ago when a solicitor had tracked him down and told him the unbelievable details. Reaching, he kneaded a rock-hard muscle on his shoulder. “It is a complicated story,” he said at length.
She merely shrugged. “I am well familiar with such tales, for are not all our lives a tangled heap of joy and sorrow? Still, if you’d rather not tell it, I understand.”
The pity in her eyes made his heart skip a beat. Had ever a more compassionate woman graced this earth?
Leaning back against the doorjamb, he folded his arms. He’d already relayed the story to Fitz. There could be no harm in sharing it with Mina as wel
l, for his mother had only bade him not to reveal the details to his family.
“My father,” he began, “was the youngest brother and, as such, was indulged. Overmuch. And to his detriment, I might add. Though my grandfather urged him to go into the church, he could not give up his artistic bent or his dream to become a renowned painter. He talked Grandfather—or rather Grandmother—into allowing him to study for a year in France amongst the masters. It was there he met my mother.”
Mina’s nose bunched. “This doesn’t sound so complicated.”
“This is where it takes a turn.” He sighed. How to put this delicately? “While staying as a guest in the house of one of his former schoolmate’s relatives, he became enamored with the gentleman’s daughter. He asked to paint her, and she accepted. During those long sessions, alone, his admiration of her turned into an indiscretion.”
“Oh.” Pink blossomed on Mina’s cheeks, and for a moment, he considered if he should continue.
Unfolding his arms, he paced the rug in front of the door. Better to tell the rest without making eye contact. “When my mother told my father she was with child, he knew he had to do the right thing and marry her. But she was French. And in his English family’s eyes, that would be a mark against her. Were they to find out she was also bearing his child, they’d both be outcasts.”
Mina’s breath caught. “So what happened?”
“He brought her home immediately, intending to marry in the Anglican church before anyone knew. But while doing a fitting for my mother’s dress, a servant noticed her thickening middle and went straight to Grandfather. Needless to say, it did not go over well. Grandfather allowed the marriage to continue to give the child—me—a name, but he swore my parents to secrecy and banned them from his household immediately following the ceremony.”
“How awful.”
“It was.” He stopped his mad pacing and faced her. “They moved to London, where they took up a shabby existence. My father scrabbled to sell miniature portraits while my mother tried desperately to get jobs tutoring French. Shortly after my birth, my father took ill and died. My mother, alone in a foreign country, with a babe and no means to support herself, decided to bring me back to my father’s family and plead for Grandfather to take me in, for she couldn’t return to her home with a child born far too soon after their marriage. Grandfather agreed. I was whisked off to be cared for by a hired nurse until I could be weaned and questions wouldn’t be asked. He let everyone believe—even me—that my mother had died of a fever alongside my father.”
3 Charming Christmas Tales Set in Victorian England Page 26
