Marion’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. “But my lady, I thought…”
She trailed off at Scarlett’s expression.
“I will wait for your decision,” she murmured, and Scarlett nodded, turning her head before her maid noticed that tears were beginning to fill her eyes. She wanted to remain with Hunter, truly she did, but she was scared — scared of who she would become if she gave her heart fully to him, if she followed him to London, where she would witness the ladies of the ton dancing and flirting with her husband as Lady Raymond did the previous night.
She should hardly be jealous. Of course, Hunter danced and spoke with other women, as did all men in polite company, but he always came back to her. While her heart swelled with gratitude to him for it, she didn’t want to have to experience the conflicting emotions night in and out, coupled with her hatred of the city. Perhaps it was better to remain here alone, ignorant of all that occurred in London.
She sighed as she dressed in a cheery yellow frock that belied her current mood. For Hunter would be returning shortly, she knew. The question was, would she accompany him or not?
Hunter spoke at length of their London return over breakfast that morning. He could admit that he was being a coward, not asking his wife directly if she deigned to return with him, but he didn’t want to hear her refusal, didn’t want to think of her rejecting his request. And so, he decided he would simply assume that she would be accompanying him, and surely she would follow along. When she didn’t protest any of his ideas, he took that as her agreement.
“Tomorrow morning, then,” he said with a nod. “That should work very well, indeed. Lord Falconer will be able to provide me an audience the following day, and we should get to work at determining the best way to go about arranging your charities before I must return to the House of the Lords. We will also be back at Wintervale in a few weeks as I must find a new steward, of course, but luckily we aren’t far from London.”
Scarlett nodded, and while Hunter could sense her hesitancy, he was sure it was simply some nerves upon returning to London, as it had been some time, he knew, since she had been there.
“Scarlett,” he said softly, taking her chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting her head toward him. “I know London holds unpleasant memories for you. But we will be living in our own home, making our own new, happy memories. I will never do to you what your father did, you know that, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then do not fear. If you ever need anything, I will be there for you, you must believe me.”
“Of course, Hunter. But…”
“But what?”
“You have your life there already. Your work, your clubs, your friends. I have no wish to be entirely dependent on you.”
“You have your own hobbies,” he said, frowning. “You will have your charities, and I am sure you will volunteer. You will also have plenty of time for both your friends and your horses as well.”
“My horses and my friends are here,” she said quietly. “Though I suppose you are right, I shall have my charities, and I do thank you for arranging everything for me.”
“Hyde Park can be a wonderful place to ride,” he said in what he hoped was a cheerful manner. “And you’ll make new friends, you’ll see. Lavinia will arrive in London by March. And people love you! It will be fine, not to worry, love.”
As he took in her look of consternation, however, he realized that he was trying to convince himself as much as her. For she was right. He was rather busy in London. This time in the country had been a wonderful respite, and he was grateful for it in so many ways as it had provided him with the opportunity to fall in love with the woman sitting in front of him, the woman who was kind and generous and adventurous and beautiful — and currently silently resenting the fact that she would have to leave the home she had come to know so well. He understood this, but what else could he do? He certainly didn’t want to truly leave her. They would make this work.
But that night, as he made love to Scarlett, when she began to tremor around him, finding her release, her arms came encircled him in a grip so tight, tears dripping onto his shoulder, that he couldn’t help the fear in his breast as he wondered if she was, in fact, saying goodbye.
Scarlett stood in her room the next morning, looking at the valise in front of her. Hunter wanted to leave by noon, she knew, in order to take advantage of the most light and warmth of the day. The carriage was ready, his bags packed. But the longer she stood there, the faster her heart beat. She wandered over to the window, looking down at the snow-covered grounds below. She knew what he expected of her was nothing untoward, was typical for a married couple, to go where the husband needed to be. And yet everything within her longed to remain. She had come to love the land, the people, the estate. This was home. They would return, true, but it wouldn’t be until the snow had melted, the ground had thawed, and the gardens would be blooming once more with the summer sun.
Could she do it? Could she leave all behind for Hunter? She knew, deep in her heart, that she loved him with all of her being, and that scared her more than even simply leaving did. For if she left, her whole world would revolve around him. All of her emotions would be tied up in him, while he would be devoted entirely to other causes and purposes. It was not a life she had ever wanted to live. And yet, here she was.
As Marion puttered around the room, packing all of Scarlett’s remaining essentials, Scarlett slowly put one foot in front of her as she walked along the corridor and down the stairs, attempting to quell the panic within her. Her stomach in turmoil, she stood at the threshold between the Oak Room and the entrance hall. She looked up, seeing the mistletoe hanging above her, and tears sprang into her eyes once more.
When she tilted her head back, she found Abbot standing there, looking at her with a gentle smile.
“We didn’t remove the Christmas decor,” she said sadly. “Typically I wait until Twelfth Night, but…”
“It’s all right, my lady, we are happy to do it,” he said with a nod of his head. “We will miss you, to be sure, but you are where you belong.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Shepherd joining him, and the two of them beamed at her as though they were proud parents. “We are so pleased that you and my lord will be together, as it should be.”
Scarlett nodded stiffly, and suddenly she felt an arm slip around her. She turned to find her husband standing in front of her, his formal dress covered in a cloak, a fur hat upon his head.
“One last kiss under the mistletoe,” he said, dropping a quick smack on her lips. She began to walk through the door he held open for her, but once she was through the entrance hall, her foot on the cusp of the portico, she stopped. She couldn’t seem to take one more step, her body frozen as she looked out before her, at the carriage surrounded by the snow, the evergreens a backdrop behind it.
“I can’t,” she said, the words coming from her lips before she even had time to think of them, nor the consequences.
“What’s this?” asked Hunter, his hand coming lightly to her back. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not all right. I want to be with you, Hunter, I do, but … but I can’t go back there. Not now, not for months on end. I will see you when you return. I look forward to it, truly, and I have so loved our time together. But I can’t go back with you. I’m sorry.”
And with that, she turned and ran back the way she came as Hunter called her name.
“Scarlett!” he cried out, his footsteps echoing hers, and finally she stopped in the middle of Green Hall, knowing that she could never outrun him. “Don’t do this,” he begged, his eyes filled with desperation. “All will be fine, I promise. Just come with me.”
“Can you not stay?” she asked, her breast filled with hope. For he wasn’t required in London, not truly, for another few months. No, he was simply choosing to be there. “At least for a time?”
“I must go back,” he said, his voi
ce deep and grave. “Please, Scarlett, won’t you come with me? I love you, and I want — I need you with me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I will see you when you return, whenever that may be. I’m sorry.”
And with that, she began running once more, her booted feet echoing down the corridor, and she didn’t know whether she was relieved or dismayed when he didn’t follow her.
22
Scarlett all but ran up the stairs to her bedchamber, slamming the door and sinking down in a crouch against it, until she found herself a blubbering mess on the floor. This wasn’t like her, not at all. She was normally assured, confident, willing to take on whatever risks came her way. Her mother had been right. It was love that made her this way. Weak. Inconsistent. Unsure. She had been resolved to go with Hunter to London, until that final moment. Now he would hate her, she was sure of it. Would he find comfort in the arms of someone else? Someone like Lady Raymond? The thought created an ache within her that began in her heart and radiated out through her entire body, her limbs practically trembling with it.
She rocked back and forth from her seat on the floor, her arms around her knees. She didn’t know how long she stayed that way until finally there was a soft knock on the door.
“My lady? My lady, are you all right?”
Marion. Oh, God. Scarlett had been so caught up in her own troubles she had completely forgotten Marion. And now Mr. Spicer would be long gone with his master. In running from Hunter, she had effectively kept the two of them from one another.
“Marion!” she cried, opening the door, and the girl practically stumbled in. “Oh, Marion, I’m so sorry. I never thought … I should have—”
“It’s fine,” said Marion with a gentle smile. “We will sort it out. I couldn’t leave you, not now. Not like this. I’m sorry, my lady, but I couldn’t help overhearing your exchange with Lord Oxford. Do you not think you could come to enjoy London? Perhaps in due time? You could even go back and forth between here and the city, could you not?”
“You are likely right, Marion,” Scarlett said with a sigh, making her way to the window, her cloak trailing on the floor behind her. The carriage was no longer in sight, long passed into the snowy drifts beyond. “I could, I suppose. I want a life with him, I do, but I fear once we are in London, our life will become his life. And should anything happen, I will be completely lost.”
“Like your mother.”
“Like my mother.”
“I do not believe Lord Oxford is like your father, if I may be so bold to say, my lady,” said Marion hesitantly. “Though only you know that for sure.”
“Have I made a mistake?” Scarlett asked, turning from the window, looking beseechingly at her maid.
“That is not for me to say, my lady,” murmured Marion. “Just know that I am here for you, whatever you may need.”
“Thank you, Marion,” Scarlett said with a soft smile.
“Oh, and my lady…” Marion pulled out a package that had been hidden behind her back. “My lord asked me to give this to you.”
What in heavens…? Scarlett looked at Marion with some question as she took the small package wrapped in brown paper. She turned it over in her hands, pulling on the twine that bound it together.
“Whatever could this be?” she murmured, intent on opening it.
“I wouldn’t know, my lady,” responded Marion. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No, no, stay,” Scarlett said as she walked to her vanity, sitting down on the stool in front of it. She finally managed to tear off the remaining packaging, and she pulled out a piece of clothing. As she unfurled the garment, a piece of paper fell out, and as curious as she was of the gift, she needed to know first of the note.
“Happy Christmas, my love,” was all it said. And in her hands she held a pair of breeches, looking as though they were tailored exactly to fit her. Tears sprung up anew in her eyes, but this time for another reason entirely. He not only loved her, but he knew her. He loved her despite the fact that she rode a horse in the most unladylike fashion possible, and he not only accepted it but he was encouraging it.
“There are words written on the back, my lady,” Marion said in a near whisper.
Scarlett picked up the paper she had discarded on the vanity.
“While this is not a tangible gift, I have set up a foundation for you. You can choose the charities, be they in the village or within London. The funds are available and you may manage it, however you see fit.”
She blinked. Did he mean it? She knew she had told him of what she wanted, but for him to go ahead, to create something for her, was unbelievable. It would give her purpose, outside of simply a life created around him.
As the tears slid down her cheeks, she thought of how he had embraced Christmastide, despite the fact that he was not particularly enamored with the holiday. He had shown her with his lovemaking how much he desired her, had stood up for her to his parents, to his friends, staying by her side whenever she needed him.
And all of this after she had been so frosty toward him. And then she left him, unable to overcome her doubts.
She had made a mistake, allowing her fear to overrule all else, even her love for him. She had to make things right, to tell him exactly how she felt.
He had taken the carriage. Surely she could catch him on horseback.
She began to don the breeches, calling out to Marion to find her riding gear.
“I must catch him, Marion. I must!”
As the carriage trundled down the bumpy road away from Wintervale, Hunter felt like he had left a piece of himself behind. In just over a week, his wife had become as much a part of him as one of his very own limbs. When he returned home, he had hoped they could find a way to come together in a true partnership, but never could he have imagined forging a bond so strong. He had thought she felt the same, had tried to coax the words out of her, but they never came. Had he simply been imagining her response to him? He had told her he loved her time and again, and all he had received in return was a warm smile, a gentle kiss, or tender words that were welcomed but did not return his sentiments.
If she loved him, as he truly needed her to, she would have come with him. But without that love, she had not found the courage to overcome all of her fears. They had failed one another, and now he would never be the same again.
He leaned down, his elbows on his knees, his head in hands. Finally lifting them, he looked out the window at the evergreens passing by. He would never look at greenery the same way, he thought with a rueful grin. Wringing his hands together, he opened his small valise to find the correspondence he needed to review before meeting with Lord Falconer tomorrow. As he pulled out the documents with gloved hands, something fell out of the bag to the floor of the carriage. He was going to leave it there, but a flash of red caught his eye. He picked it up, wonder widening his eyes as he looked at the sprig of holly held in his hand. How had it gotten there?
He twirled it around, surprised at the warmth beginning to grow within him as he thought of the trees outside, the snow swirling against the window of the carriage, and the little red berries encased in greenery which he now palmed. The warmth was Christmas. And Christmas was Scarlett. She had caused him to love the holiday, had made him believe that true love could actually exist between two people. She had rejected him, true, but she had demons of her own, a past that she had shared with him, and he had quit on her too early.
He had pushed, demanding that she return to London with him, never considering that perhaps in order to be together, they must find a compromise. He could never spend all of his time in the country, to be sure, but could he not spend more of it here? And he did not live particularly far from London. Would it truly be that hard to compromise? He had expected her to change her life in order to follow along with his. But he was being too stubborn, too set in his ways. He never should have left, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t return and bring things to rights.
Hunter
banged on the top of the carriage to alert his driver.
“Chaucy! Turn around! We’re going home for my wife!”
The wind whipped past Scarlett’s ears with increasing frigidness. She had been stupid. In her haste to chase after Hunter, she had dressed hurriedly — though warmly — and raced to the stables. There, the surprised groom had helped her prepare her mount, and she had declined his repeated offers to accompany her. Why had she not let him? She berated herself now for her hasty decision. She supposed she had seen herself finding Hunter and proclaiming some romantic declaration, and had considered that it would feel somewhat silly with a groom in tow.
But now the skies, which had been sunny when she devised this hasty plan, were beginning to darken, the winds increasing in strength, the temperature dropping rapidly. She was moving at a quick pace, but would it be quick enough? Her hands were already beginning to stiffen with cold, and she mumbled an apology to Star. By now, she was hopefully closer to Hunter than she was to home, however, so she pushed on.
The path wound around the cliffs next to the river below, but there was one thing she was confident in, and that was the sure-footedness of her horse. As they rounded the path overlooking the frozen lake, however, suddenly Star reared up. Scarlett squeezed tightly with her thighs, but her hands were so cold she couldn’t properly grip the reins, and they slipped out of her fingers as she went flying backward. She landed hard on the path behind her, a jolt of pain cracking through her ankle and radiating up through her leg. She gasped from the shock of it, all of the breath knocked out of her body.
She felt tears gather in her eyes as she fought down the panic, finally maintaining a hold on control. There was a pain her chest but she was, at least, able to breathe again.
“Stupid, Star, that’s what I am,” she mumbled to her horse, who leaned down and nuzzled her ear in support. Why had he spooked? Star was a well-trained animal who had never faltered before.
Christmastide With His Countess Page 16
