Dashing All the Way : A Christmas Anthology

by Eva Devon

  Chapter 10

  One would have thought that tears would come after the man of one’s dreams had walked away. Instead, Evangeline strode to Charlotte’s door, knocked quietly and waited.

  It took several moments, but Charlotte opened the panel, blinking sleepily. “Are you unwell?”

  “You heard nothing?” Evangeline inquired, astonished but grateful.

  “Only the sounds of tonight’s carols in my dream,” she said, half-smiling but clearly worried. “Shall I come in?”

  Evangeline stood back.

  Her friend entered, clutching a wool blanket about her shoulders.

  Charlotte frowned. “What transpired? You seem distressed but oddly calm. It is a most confusing state.”

  “If it looks thus it is because I am both.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened.

  She snatched up a shawl from the chair and hauled it over her shoulders as if its warmth could shield her from the pain falling upon her now. “Anthony visited me.”

  “Here?” Charlotte yelped.

  “Yes.”

  “You let him in?” she gasped.

  “Yes.”

  “My goodness.” Charlotte remained silent for several moments then asked in quick succession, “Did he? Did you? What did you two do?”

  “Mostly we spoke, but we kissed.”

  Charlotte’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Well, you’ve certainly thrown yourself into your new boldness.”

  Evangeline collapsed into the chair by the fire feeling so very tired. “I must confess that I am now at a loss as to what to do next.”

  “Do you think anyone saw him?”

  “I had not even thought of that,” she confessed, horrified.

  “Let us hope not. But why did you let him in? He is handsome, I grant you.” Charlotte shook her head, her red locks glinting gold in the firelight. “But the risk—”

  “I love him.” The words were out and true. It felt so good to say them even if they would come to naught.

  “But you barely know him!”

  “I cannot explain it. I love him.” She gazed at the flames leaping in the fire, wishing they would give her answers. “When I am with him, I feel so alive, so true.”

  “Is that not because he is handsome and exciting?”

  “While I agree he is both of those things, that’s not it. I swear, he sees me. He saw me first. When everyone else ignored me, somehow, he saw beneath it all and knew I could be more. That I am more.”

  “Oh, Evangeline.” Charlotte crossed to her and knelt down. “Did he ask you to marry him?”

  She gave a tight shake of her head. “I don’t think he shall. Even the idea of passionate love seems to upset him.”

  “Are marriage and passionate love synonymous?” Charlotte inquired. “I do not think I’ve seen such a marriage until this house party. We are surrounded by loving couples. It is most alarming.”

  Evangeline laughed and then a tear slipped down her cheek. “I want that. I want it so much. To have more than just a passing existence.”

  Charlotte squeezed her hand. “You could grow to love Ellesmere.”

  Holding her friend’s hand, she tried to see Charlotte’s logic. “I should be lucky to have him.”

  “Evangeline! He would be lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you, dear friend. I would not have agreed until now, I suppose. I always felt deep in my heart that my existence was so small, that there were grander chances for me than my parents thought. But now, seeing it is true? I want more than a marriage of convenience.”

  Charlotte sighed. “They seem rare.”

  “That doesn’t stop me longing for it.”

  “Whatever will you do?”

  Evangeline swallowed. “I will not push him. He has made himself plain. So, I must accept it. But I do think I shall go home and plan anew. Now that I know I can be myself, that my parents cannot rule my every moment, I think I will wait until. . .”

  “Until?”

  She lifted a hand to her eyes. “Charlotte, I cannot help but feeling my chance at love has abandoned me.”

  “I do not believe it,” Charlotte decried. “Something will happen. You deserve love.”

  “We all do. But how shall it occur?”

  Charlotte smiled ruefully. “I do not know. It’s a mystery.”

  “Life is.”

  “Men are a confusion to me,” Charlotte said suddenly. “They say women are the emotional sex, but men seem to be every bit as silly as women.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Logic is a delusion we all cling to.” She shook her head. All the logic in the world could not save her now. “Still, I cannot regret any of this. It has given me myself.”

  “I have always liked you.” Charlotte stood and hugged her then. “I like you even more now. You’ve given me a great gift.”

  “Have I?”

  She nodded. “Now, I see that when a lady is herself and speaks, there are men who will listen and company that will admire her for it. I won’t forget.”

  “We have both been given something priceless then.” Evangeline clung to this, desperate to see something good in this terrible mess.

  The clock chimed, a soft gentle ding, twelve times.

  “Just in time for Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

  Though her heart was heavy, she could not feel sad. Not when she had gained so much. “Merry Christmas, Charlotte.”

  Now, she only wished it could be merry for all.

  Unlike his parents, Anthony adored children. He always had. They were magnificent beings, always in the present, always laughing, running, feeling their emotions to the fullest. They had not yet learned to hide their hurts, but expressed them. They understood that play was not a pastime but the vital thing of life and every moment was a discovery to them. They did not avoid leaping because they feared the fall. . . They thought of nothing but the leap.

  How he wished he could still be like that, seeing the world for the first time, not mistrusting that it would hurt him.

  As he gazed at the children making short work of their Christmas presents, he held a slim volume in his hands. Was he about to commit a grave error?

  He’d had this book since he turned fourteen and had fallen in love with The Bard. He’d carried it with him wherever he went. Now, it was time to let it go.

  Evangeline stood across the room, speaking with his sister, dangling a silver ball for the baby to play with.

  She looked so merry and happy that one would never have the thought that the events of the previous night had occurred at all. Had he imagined the sheer disappointment on her face?

  Ellesmere bent down beside her and whispered something.

  She smiled, a beautiful, kind smile.

  His heart sank. He had told her she could never be his. She had taken him at his word. As an intelligent woman must. And Evangeline was the wisest woman of his acquaintance.

  Even so, he found his feet taking him across the room.

  Once there, he stood silently. He was uncertain what to say, so he did not try to say what he could not yet. He extended the volume and said with as much joy as he could muster, “Merry Christmas, Lady Evangeline.”

  With that, before she could reply, he turned away and strode to the huge fire which now hosted the Yule log. There was nothing he could do now. He had acted the fool and now had to pay the price for it. But by God, he would not make the mistake again. No. Now, he would leap and not fear the fall.

  The book fit perfectly in her palm. She turned it carefully. The leather was worn with years of reading and obvious use in harsh climes. Instinctively, she knew he’d been carrying it for years.

  The audible gasp from the Duchess of Hunt confirmed it.

  Slowly, she lifted the cover. The pages had been kept perfectly straight except one. She turned the leaves until she came to the dove-eared page.

  “My dearest Evangeline, there are no truer words than these,

&nb
sp; Let me not to the marriage of true minds

  Admit impediments. Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

  It is the star to every wandering bark,

  Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

  Love's not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

  Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  If this be error, and upon me proved,

  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

  Evangeline’s throat tightened. It was the poem she had referenced in one of their conversations. But why would he send her a sonnet which spoke of love unchanging? Was he being cruel?

  The Duchess of Hunt leaned forward and placed her hand on Evangeline’s. “The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one for him.”

  “But the Earl of Ellesmere—”

  “Is a very fine man,” the duchess said truthfully. “But when you two stand next to each other, the stars are in the heaven, and the fish in the sea. It is right.”

  The duchess’ words wrapped her up in a hope for something she knew she could not have and the pain of it was excruciating. “But he—”

  “He won’t admit it,” the duchess supplied brokenly. “If you wish admission of his love, that book is it. He has carried it nigh twenty years. He has never leant it to anyone. It has been his comfort during many a storm. All through the years of pain he weathered when our parents were at the worst. This was the book he’d turn to.”

  “And he has given it to me?” she marveled.

  “And with it, his heart, though he seems not to know how to say it or how to give it.”

  “What am I to do?” she asked, truly at a loss.

  “I cannot tell you, but I can tell you this. He is stubborn. But if anyone is to conquer that, it is you.”

  “You wish us to be together?” she asked, astounded.

  The duchess smiled through the bittersweetness of the moment. “Since the moment you rushed so nervously into my salon, his eyes following you like a man who has seen a raft in a storm, I knew. You are the answer to his heart’s call.”

  She gasped. “And he to mine.”

  “I know it.” She took her hand. “I only hope he can admit it in time. What did Ellesmere whisper to you?”

  “He asked me to meet him in the library after we were finished here.”

  “Ah.” The duchess nodded as if to seem content though she clearly was not. “I wish you happy.”

  The proper reply was to thank her, but the words wouldn’t come because the wrong man was waiting for her. A wonderful man. But the wrong man nonetheless.

  Chapter 11

  Evangeline entered the library, her head high, even as she desperately wished to twist her hands together. This interview should have been everything she’d hoped for. It was the culmination of her very reason for meeting Anthony alone that night, so many days ago.

  It was hard to believe that she had fallen in love and lost that love in such a short space. But there it was.

  Ellesmere glanced up from his book.

  “Is it interesting?” she asked, thinking of nothing else to say.

  Those green eyes studied her carefully. “In truth, I have no idea what it is about. I’ve been staring at the same page for some time now.”

  “You are preoccupied?” she queried.

  She expected him to smile but he did not.

  “Lady Evangeline, I do believe that you and I are to be good friends.”

  She sighed which should have given her relief. It did not. For she knew what she had to say. But how did she say it? “I am grateful that you think me your friend.”

  “And I had thought we could be more.”

  Thought. That gave her pause. For this was not the way a proposal was begun, was it? She had no experience of it.

  “But I think it would be a great mistake,” he finally said, closing the book as if he were closing the possibility of them shut as well.

  “I see.” And she did. Ellesmere was a wise man.

  “I—” He looked askance. “Your heart is elsewhere.”

  The words rushed to the tip of her tongue to deny it but, instead, the feeling that overcame her now was, indeed, relief. “Is it so very obvious?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed without joy at his correct observation. “Last night when the two of you played and sang, I don’t think there was a soul in the room who did not know it.”

  “Except for Anthony Basingstoke.”

  He frowned. “I beg your pardon.”

  “It matters not,” she hurried. “I am, of course, sorry, because I think we could have been content. But you are right, and I must admit that I am happy you have said so. I think I would have said it, too. Though most would think me mad.”

  The silence that followed was only broken when he pushed back his chair and crossed to her.

  Towering over her, he took her hand in his. “We could be content, I agree. But you and I, we both wish for more than pleasantries, I think. After all, this is the only life we have. Should we waste it on what is only enough?”

  “No,” she replied softly but with surprising confidence.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “If you ever have need of a friend, do not hesitate to call upon me. You are a wondrous young lady. Do not forget it.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she cursed fate. Cursed her feelings, and fought the urge to curse Anthony, too. “I wish things were different.”

  “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, Lady Evangeline. But I am happy for the time we have shared, little as it is.”

  She nodded.

  Ellesmere inclined his golden head then left her alone in a room which usually lifted her spirits.

  She took out the book Anthony had given her and opened it at random.

  “All alone I beweep my outcast state. . .”

  Tears stung her eyes now. How had this happened? How had she found herself alone? Stronger, true. But alone.

  “Should I offer my congratulations?”

  She whipped around to that voice.

  Anger sparked in her then. “What the deuces are you doing here?”

  He strode further into the library. “I came—”

  “Anthony, you cannot do this,” she suddenly proclaimed, unable to take the emotional upheaval. “You cannot reject me at one turn and seek me out in the next moment. I had thought this to be the happiest Christmas I would have known, but for this. For this, I cannot—”

  “I haven’t rejected you, Evangeline.”

  She blinked. How could he deny it! “You have. You have pushed—”

  “I have rejected myself,” he cut in simply.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Yourself?”

  He nodded. “I have been so afraid of pain. So utterly stupid. Last night, I was discovered leaving your room.”

  “My God,” she gasped. “Am I ruined?”

  “No,” he assured quickly. “It was the Duke of Hunt. Aston knows. And I was so. . . Well, so happy because I thought that was the end of it all. I would have to marry you.”

  She flinched. “That sounds absolutely horrid.”

  He smiled wryly. “That’s what they said, too. But, I think I went to your room, desperately hoping to be discovered, no matter what I told myself. For, if I could have you without myself giving in, then at least it wouldn’t have been I who inflicted pain on myself.”

  Sadness filled her then. But she had to hear him out. “Is that what our union would be? Pain?”

  “My parents loved each other,” he began, his eyes shining. “Deeply. But by the end, watching their fighting, it undid us children. They insulted each other. Used us against each other. Our lives were a storm.”r />
  The raft. The Duchess of Hunt had said he looked upon her as though she was his raft in a storm.

  “Every time I pushed you away, it was myself I was punishing,” he gritted, his eyes alight with agony and something else, too. “Unfortunately, I punished you, too.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Yes.”

  “But I cannot live afraid,” he continued, his voice gaining strength as he stepped forward again. “Because I am already in pain. In pain at losing you and what we could have. Can I throw that away? The chance? What a mad thing to do. Because I believe that you and I, we are two halves and when together. . .”

  “We are whole,” she breathed. “I never knew anyone could feel like that,” she said gently. “I never knew I could feel so intensely for a person in such a short time.”

  “What will I do without my other half?” he asked, his voice honest, plaintive. “Suffer. That’s what I will do. What you will do. So, I can either suffer now, or be brave and choose to love you every day. And choose to never let the darkness take over our love.”

  “Anthony, we do not ever have to let that darkness in,” she said. The sadness that had taken her was now ebbing away as she realized that he was choosing hope. “We are both strong. And you are too kind to ever be cruel as your parents were. Look how you showed me myself. You showed me what I could be. You knew when I stood before you alone that night that I was more than just a desperate wallflower. And somehow, your knowing allowed me to make it so.”

  “And you knew that I was more than a rake,” he added. His gaze lost its agony and filled with something else entirely. “More than a man who lived his life drinking and making merry.”

  “We shall still make merry but together, our whole life long. . . That is. . . That is if that is what you are saying.”

  Smiling, he knelt before her. “Marry me? Give me a gift this Christmas that we will share forever.”

  His words, upon their meeting in another library, many nights ago, echoed through her mind. She had hoped then it would be him.

  “Why did you let me meet with Ellesmere?” she asked suddenly.