by Laura Landon
“Except not every mine owner feels as you do,” Frank interjected.
“No,” Lord Dunstan continued. “And they are being quite insistent that I vote against the bill that will come up when the House reconvenes.”
Dunstan walked to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “I received this several weeks ago.”
He handed the paper to Frank.
Think carefully before you cast your vote. All miners need to stick together.
“It wasn’t terribly threatening, of course, but the anonymity of it had me worried. Then this came today.”
Dunstan handed Frank a second missive.
I saw your daughter buying Christmas gifts for her nieces and nephews. It would be a shame for something tragic to happen to her because of her father’s foolishness.
Frank’s blood ran cold. They were talking about Tillie. They were threatening Tillie’s life if Lord Dunstan voted the wrong way. This was no cautionary note. This was an outright threat.
“Did you see who delivered this?” he asked.
Dunstan shook his head. The agony on his face stole Frank’s breath.
“They’re threatening Tillie.”
Frank pointed to Dunstan’s chair and the viscount sat. “Who are the most vocal opponents of the bill?”
“There are only a handful. Lords Broughton, Derwin, Neville, and Tomkins.”
“Tomkins?” Lord Beckett asked. “One wouldn’t think he would be against improvements to his mine.”
“He’s not the most vocal. Broughton and Neville are. But he and Derwin have indicated they’re against making any improvements in the near future. Although I think they may have been encouraged to vote in the negative the same as I am being forced.”
“So Broughton and Neville are our most likely candidates to have sent—or at least instigated—these threatening notes,” Frank said.
“I would say so,” Dunstan answered, raking his hand across his face. “And of the two, I would put my bet on Broughton.”
Frank rose to his feet and paced the room, suppressing a shudder at the thought of something happening to Tillie.
Lord Dunstan slammed his empty glass on the table. His agitation was escalating. “I’m taking this to the authorities. Whoever is doing this will be ferreted out and made to pay!”
Frank stopped his progress from one side of the room to the other and turned to face Lord Dunstan. “You would certainly be within your rights to do that, my lord,” he said, hoping his calm voice would have the desired effect. “But I wonder—if it were possible to sort this out ourselves, find out who is most opposed to the point that they might sanction violence, and then try to find a common ground, wouldn’t that be a better resolution?”
Dunstan grumbled. “But we don’t know who they are, do we, young fellow?”
Frank ignored the pointed words and seized on the opportunity to turn from threats to dialogue. “I wonder if you might consider inviting them all—anyone who you know feels strongly either for or against the mining bill, that is—to Cherrywood for a weekend of gaming? Perhaps their wives, as well, for—oh, I don’t know, perhaps for a musicale?”
Lord Dunstan huffed. “I’d love the chance to relieve Neville of a few quid. But Tomkins doesn’t gamble. Not in any way.”
Lord Beckett sighed and ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “If not for the bloody snow we could have a nice go at the fox and hounds.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Dunstan agreed. “But—”
“Hold on a moment,” Frank interrupted. “How difficult would it be for you to host a holiday party, in say, ten days? Make it a Twelvetide celebration, and hold it on the twelfth day of Christmas which would be, what, January 5th?”
Lord Dunstan grunted. “Smashing idea, my boy. Why, I’m sure Mary would love to plan a Twelvetide ball. Hasn’t been done in years and she’d be the one to revive the tradition. And you know Tillie would be ecstatic over the idea.”
“Be sure to invite anyone you think might be against the passage of the bill, as well as other friends, neighbors, and members of the House who are in agreement with the bill. The event doesn’t have to be excessively large, but enough so that Broughton, Neville, Derwin, and Tomkins don’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary for your hosting a ball on such short notice.”
“But if any of them decline, the plan would fall through.”
“Hm, yes, but they wouldn’t dare if it were a celebration of something particularly special.”
“Like what?” Frank asked.
“Like a betrothal,” George grinned as he slapped his knee.
“A betrothal ball? For whom?” Dunstan asked.
“For someone willing to play the part. Someone like Tillie and, say, Major Collyard here.”
“Mr. Rowley,” Frank said, turning on Tillie’s brother.
“It doesn’t have to be real, Frank. Father doesn’t have to actually announce your engagement to Tillie. And no one needs to think it’s a betrothal ball except Broughton, Neville, Derwin, and Tomkins.”
“I don’t like it,” Frank said.
“Can you think of another reason that will guarantee their attendance?” George asked.
Everyone was silent.
“She’ll have to be told,” Frank said, not wanting to be the one who told her their plan.
“I’ll tell her,” George said. “She already suspects something is wrong. She’ll be happy to do whatever the family needs.”
Tillie’s father gave his son a surprised look.
“Oh, Father. When has anyone been able to keep something from Tillie? She knew something wasn’t right the minute you got the first letter.”
Lord Dunstan sank into his chair. “And I’ll have to tell my wife. Although she already suspects a problem, she’ll need to know she will be hosting a ball in less than two weeks.”
The men rose from their chairs and walked toward the door. When Frank reached the hall, he headed for an exit that would take him outside. He needed to think. He needed to find another plan that would keep Tillie from any possible mishap—physical or social. Involving her in this could lead to embarrassment for her, and that he could not allow.
Chapter 5
The snow had stopped and Frank took the opportunity to escape the house before Lord Dunstan met with his wife and daughter to explain the situation. He knew the women would be upset when they found out Lord Dunstan had received threatening letters. There was no doubt that they’d do everything they could to help him discover who’d sent the letters. If hosting a ball would be of some use, Frank knew they’d be eager to put on the most lavish ball conceivable. What he didn’t like was using Tillie in the plan.
Frank followed the path that led him to the summerhouse. It was the perfect place to be alone. To think.
He sat on one of the cushioned benches and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed to clear his head. It surprised him that the most stubborn image, the one that steadfastly refused to leave the forefront of his thoughts, was Tillie. Lovely Tillie, with hair spun in perfect colors so that it danced enticingly in the candlelight. Sunny Tillie, with lips that curved into a smile at the least provocation. Tender Tillie, whose arms encompassed him so fiercely he no longer felt alone in the world.
Remarkably, he felt as if he’d known Tillie forever. Felt that she’d been waiting in the shadows for him to arrive, and when he finally came, she stepped out into the daylight to meet him. And she brought the sunshine with her.
He turned his head to the manor house, and as if she somehow knew he needed her, he saw her walking down the path toward him.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she said when she stepped through the door he held open for her.
“Did your father explain our plan?” he asked when they were seated.
“Yes. He did.” Her gaze lowered to her lap. “Was it George’s idea to host an engagement ball?”
“Yes.”
“I thought as much.” She lifted her head until her gaze
locked with his. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m sure with a little thought, we can come up with another reason to hold a ball on such short notice, if you think Twelvetide alone isn’t convincing enough.”
Frank smiled. “Do you find it so distasteful to let people think we’re a couple?”
“Of course not. But I’m sure you—”
Before he could check his words, Frank’s unguarded response spilled from his lips.
“I don’t at all. The plan is solid. It will raise few questions.”
She lifted her gaze and studied him. “As long as you understand that no one is hinting at anything serious.”
Frank couldn’t help but chuckle, though he marveled at how easily the laughter had come. “I understand.”
“Good.”
Frank watched Tillie’s shoulders relax as a sigh of relief left her body. “May I ask you something personal, Tillie?”
She turned to face him. “Of course.”
“Why haven’t you married? I can’t fathom you haven’t been asked.”
Frank was afraid she might be offended at his question, but from the shy smile that lifted the corners of her mouth, he could see that she wasn’t.
“I’m sure many would find fault with my reasoning, but I haven’t met the right man yet. Yes, I’ve been asked, but I didn’t love any of the men who asked me.”
“Is love a prerequisite to marriage?”
“It is for me.”
“I’m sure you know many couples in London Society who married for reasons other than love.”
“Yes, and I’m also aware of their daily unhappiness. Marrying someone you can never love makes for a very long and often very sad life.”
“I suppose it does,” he mused.
“Thankfully, Father is in full agreement. He claims he fell in love with Mother the moment he saw her. He says he wouldn’t want it any other way for his children.”
“Do you believe it’s possible to fall in love so quickly?”
She slowly lowered her gaze to her lap. “I do. I’ve always known if I met the right man I’d sense it immediately.” She lifted her head. “Does that sound foolish?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “I knew the first time I met Amelia that I could love her. And I did. The more we got to know each other, the more in love we grew.”
Frank fell quiet. He’d just spoken her name, and the dark wall hadn’t descended and the horrible pain hadn’t gripped his heart. Amelia. His love, his dear one. She would always be his first love. Nothing could change that. But now he could speak of loving her and the sky didn’t fall. He could utter her name with joy and his heart didn’t split in two.
Tillie had done that. He turned toward her in wonder. Her voice came to him, sweet and strong, riding on a wave of compassion.
“I’m terribly sorry you lost her. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to lose someone you love so deeply.”
Frank recalled those dark days from the distance time had won him. Days when he didn’t want to live. Days when dying seemed a better alternative than facing another hour without his wife and children. “When I first lost my family, I didn’t think I would survive.”
Her breathing stilled.
“But you did.”
“Yes, I did. I am. I am surviving. Thanks in large part to your uncle. He took me in after the house burned, and refused to let me leave. He also forced me to face each new day even when I didn’t want to.”
“He’s a very special man. Mother says he’s capable of working miracles, which is why she wrote him when we realized something was bothering Father.”
Frank considered Tillie’s words. Miracles. Yes, that’s what Lord Beckett was capable of working. His gift was mystical, indeed.
Frank turned his gaze to focus on the beautiful young woman beside him. Even in this, Lord Beckett had worked a miracle. He’d shown Frank it was possible to survive Christmas without drinking until he was no longer sensible. He’d shown Frank that life was possible after he’d lost everyone he’d loved. And bringing him here had brought him back to the living.
“What is your plan once our guests are here for the ball?” she asked.
“It will have to begin with a truce, then gentlemanly dialogue. They’ll have to put all their cards on the table, so to speak. I’ve seen it work many times before.”
“Then let’s hope this is one of those times.”
“Yes, let’s hope,” Frank said, letting his gaze rest on Tillie’s face. Her nose had turned red and he realized she must be chilled to the bone. “Do you want to return to the house?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Good,” Frank answered. “Neither do I.” He looked into her eyes, upturned to his. Open, honest, giving. They warmed him, stirred him, drew him toward a future he’d all but given up on.
There was nothing for it but to lower his head and kiss her.
He kissed her softly at first, then deepened his ardor. She answered his requests as enthusiastically as she had the night he’d first kissed her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck and she clung to him.
Frank drew her as near as he could with cloaks and gloves and hats hindering their closeness. He kissed her again and again until he felt as if they were breathing as one. She moaned when his tongue explored her mouth, but she accepted his intrusion as if she were as desperate for his touch as he was for hers.
When his breathing approached a ragged edge, he lifted his mouth from hers. He didn’t release her. He couldn’t release her. So he lowered his head until his forehead touched hers.
“You are so very special, Miss Rowley. More special than anyone I’ve met in an exceedingly long time.”
“As are you, Frank Collyard. But what I’m feeling frightens me a little.”
“I know,” he answered.
“Perhaps we should… slow down,” she whispered.
“Yes, that would be wise.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands, and Frank realized that she was nervous. He placed his hand over hers and twined his fingers with hers.
She smiled and looked up at him. “I feel as if we’ve known each other more than just a few short days. And I feel as if we could become very dear friends.”
“Do you find that disagreeable?” he asked.
“No,” she answered quickly. “I consider that very… agreeable.”
Frank smiled. “I feel as if there’s more. You consider it very agreeable but…?”
“But,” she answered, “I just want you to know that I don’t expect anything to come of our friendship.”
Frank felt an unexpected knot rise in his chest.
“You don’t expect anything to come of it? Or you don’t want anything to come of it?”
“Oh, I’m making a horrible mess of this.” She rose to her feet and walked away from him. “What I mean is that I don’t want you to feel that anything is expected of you simply because the people attending our ball will think there might be something between us.”
“In other words, you’re saying that you don’t expect me to offer for you just because I enjoy kissing you. And because you enjoy kissing me. Or because your parents are hosting a ball to announce our engagement.”
She turned, clearly flustered.
“Father isn’t really going to announce our engagement. We’re just going to pretend that we’ve grown fond of each other and perhaps in the future we may announce our betrothal.”
“I see,” Frank said, trying to hide the smile that threatened to lift the corners of his mouth. “That may be a problem, then.”
“Why?” She lifted her gaze and stared at him with the most bewildered expression.
“Because I’m afraid I’ve already grown quite fond of you. Quite fond indeed.”
“Oh!” she gasped.
And he lowered his head and kissed her again.
Chapter 6
Every morning for the next ten days, Tillie and her mother and sister gathered to make plan
s for the Twelvetide ball. The list of things to do was endless. Every afternoon, Tillie’s mother insisted they rest for a few hours to clear their brains. Tillie took that time to walk in the garden, and somehow, Frank always found her. Always.
“Do you think Uncle John and Father will be able to convince Broughton and Neville that improvements must be made to the conditions in their mines?” That was the constant question on everyone’s mind, and everyone in the household spent a good deal of time contemplating just that.
Although the ball itself was now just three days away, some of the guests would begin arriving tomorrow. The Earl of Broughton and the Marquess of Derwin were two of those who’d been invited to come early. By mid-week, Baron Tomkins and the Earl of Neville would arrive. Frank had indicated that Tillie’ father could use that time to explain why he planned to vote in favor of the bill before the House. Perhaps he might even be able to convince them that such improvements would be best for not only the miners, but the owners as well. But Tillie didn’t hold out much hope.
Frank placed his arm around Tillie’s shoulders and brought her close to him. “It’s our best hope. Perhaps if we discover the reason they are so against the bill, we’ll know what to do to help them change their minds.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tillie said, leaning against him. She placed her head on his shoulder. There wasn’t a place she’d rather be than close to him.
“Have you received replies from Broughton or Derwin?”
“Yes. Lord Broughton should arrive tomorrow and Lord Derwin the day after.”
“Very good.”
“I’m a little frightened, Frank.”
“That’s only normal, Tillie. But don’t be. Between your father, brother, and Lord Beckett, they’ll take care of everything.”
“And you,” she said, lifting her chin until their gazes locked.
