Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical)

by Allen, Louise

  ‘That is most kind of you, sir, but I could not so impose.’

  ‘It is no imposition, ma’am. However, a broken ankle certainly would be. It would ruin the festivities entirely.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I had not thought of that. I believe I must accept your kind offer, sir.’

  ‘That is a load off my mind, ma’am.’ Max turned to Vivien, regarding her with a level gaze. ‘May I offer you the other arm, Lady Hastings?’

  Refusal was impossible without looking pointedly rude. Besides, she had no wish to let him think she attached any significance to the situation. So, thanking him politely, she slipped her arm through his and they set off again.

  For a while no one spoke but then Aunt Winifred broke the silence.

  ‘I suppose this weather must be a dramatic change from the Indian climate, sir.’

  He inclined his head courteously. ‘Indeed it is, ma’am.’

  ‘Do you not regret the heat?’

  He smiled at her. ‘On balance I find the prospect of different seasons more attractive.’

  ‘That is most interesting...’

  As the conversation flowed on around her, Vivien slowly collected her wits. Then she upbraided herself for refining too much upon a simple act of kindness. This was not about her, it was about Aunt Winifred. Max had merely done the gentlemanly thing in the circumstances. And, of course, having offered to help her aunt he could hardly ignore her, however much he might have wanted to.

  That realisation put the matter back in perspective. What wasn’t so easy was being this close to him again; close enough to feel his warmth and his strength. His conversation with her aunt afforded leisure to study his profile and the curve of his lips as he smiled, the way his hair curved around his ear, to listen to every nuance in his tone. In these things at least he was unchanged.

  ‘...would you not agree, Lady Hastings?’

  Vivien looked up with a start. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t quite...’

  The grey eyes held a gleam of amusement. ‘We were discussing the relative merits of goose and roast beef at this season. It is our view that the goose wins. What say you?’

  ‘Oh, er, the goose definitely.’

  ‘That makes it unanimous then.’

  She summoned a smile. ‘I confess all this talk of food is making me hungry.’

  ‘I am sure that a good dinner awaits us.’

  ‘In truth, I hope so.’

  They lapsed into silence again after this and Vivien could only feel relieved when they arrived back at the house. She was fairly sure that Max felt the same, although he was too polite to show it.

  * * *

  In this she was correct. Max had not missed her hesitation in accepting his arm or her reluctance to be drawn into the conversation. He hadn’t intended to importune her in that way but when he saw her aunt stumble it had been an instinctive reaction to offer his help. Too late he realised he must offer the same to the niece and by so doing put them both in an awkward situation. More than awkward, since her nearness revived feelings he didn’t care to explore. It was quite clear that she had no wish to spend any more time in his company than was necessary. Nor could he blame her. It only confirmed his decision to leave Oakhurst as soon as possible.

  * * *

  On reaching the house both ladies went off to change their clothes for the forthcoming dinner. When they were out of earshot Aunt Winifred confided that she thought Mr Calderwood a very gentlemanly sort of man.

  ‘It was kind of him to help like that,’ said Vivien.

  ‘Most kind, and quite unexpected.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I confess I did not imagine him to be so agreeable, but nothing could have been more polished than his manner.’

  Vivien smiled wryly. ‘Mr Calderwood always had a polished manner.’

  Aunt Winifred shot her a quizzical glance but evidently decided not to seek further clarification of that remark. Nor did her niece make any attempt to explain.

  * * *

  Vivien retired to her room and changed out of her walking dress. Then she tidied her hair before donning a gown of soft mauve crepe. Glancing in the mirror she experienced a twinge of dissatisfaction. The demure style and colour were firm reminders of her status, a reminder she was coming to resent. She glanced at the clothes press across the room and hesitated. When she’d packed for this visit she’d included some of her other gowns on impulse, thinking that it might be time to wear them and announce to the world that she intended to be part of it again. For some reason it seemed more imperative to do so now. At the same time it would create a stir and at present she didn’t feel equal to facing it. She sighed. Perhaps later...

  * * *

  The Christmas dinner was a veritable feast. There was beef and venison and goose accompanied by rich gravy and side dishes of seasonal vegetables, a mince pie and a great Christmas pudding followed by sugar plums, ginger nuts and short bread. Fresh air and exercise had sharpened Vivien’s appetite and she ate with enjoyment. The convivial atmosphere lifted her spirits and, aided by several glasses of wine, she relaxed, joining in the conversation and laughter. Once she glanced across the table and, unexpectedly, met Max’s eye for a moment. However, his expression was unreadable. She looked away quickly.

  Eventually the ladies retired to take tea in the drawing room leaving the gentlemen to their cigars and port. Vivien helped herself to tea and then fell into a discussion of the latest London fashions with Annabel. It was a topic that Vivien was keen to pursue. Widowhood had left her out of touch with such things and she felt an increasing need to make up lost ground. It also provided a refuge from more disturbing thoughts.

  ‘Oh, look! It’s snowing!’

  Mary’s voice reached them from across the room. They looked round. It was dark now but the candlelight in the room reflected on the drifting flakes beyond.

  ‘Why, so it is,’ said Lady Hurst. ‘We have a white Christmas after all.’

  They went to stand by the windows, gazing out into the gathering night, watching the falling snow.

  ‘You were right, Aunt Winifred,’ said Vivien.

  Her aunt nodded. ‘It seems to be falling quite thickly. I wonder if it will settle.’

  ‘The children will be so excited if it does.’

  ‘I imagine they will. However, I confess that I prefer the fireside in such weather.’

  ‘I quite agree, Miss Pritchard,’ said Lady Hurst. ‘The cold makes my bones ache...’

  The conversation veered towards rheumatism and chilblains and the two older ladies returned to their chairs near the hearth leaving Vivien alone. She smiled to herself. In spite of the inevitable inconvenience associated with it, she loved to see the first snowfall. It had never entirely lost its magical appeal.

  She was so absorbed that she failed to hear the door open and was only recalled by the sound of male voices. Somewhat reluctantly she turned from the window, mindful of her social obligations. Her heart sank as she saw Sir Digby approaching.

  ‘I suppose you have been watching the snow, Lady Hastings. Ghastly stuff, what? Still with any luck it won’t hang about for long.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she replied.

  ‘If it does we’ll just have to make the best of things, won’t we?’

  ‘As you say, sir.’

  He eyed her appreciatively. ‘If it comes to being shut up in the house for a while I cannot think of any company I’d rather have.’

  Vivien summoned a polite smile. The thought of being shut up for any length of time with him was a distinctly unappealing prospect. Far more disturbing was being forced into closer proximity with Max Calderwood. Involuntarily her gaze sought him out. He was standing by a window at the end of the room, looking out into the darkness. To judge from his sombre expression he did not view the immediate future with any more equanimity than she did.

  * * *

  In that assumption she was correct, though not for the reasons she supposed. Max’s emotions just then were complex a
nd resisted close analysis. All through dinner he had tried to focus his attention on his immediate companions and not let it wander across the table towards Vivien. In spite of his best efforts he’d failed. It was like trying to keep iron filings away from a magnet. She had even caught him looking at one point. Of course she’d been quick to look away, no doubt thinking the attention impertinent which, given the circumstances, it probably was. He sighed. His best hope now was that this change in the weather would be of short duration. Otherwise his plans were going to be seriously disrupted. He shot another furtive glance across the room at Vivien. For both their sakes it would be better if the snow didn’t linger.

  Chapter Three

  Max’s hopes of leaving Oakhurst were completely dashed when he looked out of the window next morning and saw a landscape mantled in white. At any other time he might have enjoyed the pristine beauty of the scene, but just then all he could see were six inches of snow and the impossibility of travel for the present. A yellow-grey sky suggested more snow to come. Dismay vied with frustration and he sighed, turning over the remaining options in his mind. They were few. Now that his escape plan had been thwarted he was going to have to rely on ingenuity instead.

  He went down to breakfast but, as he had hoped, none of the ladies had come down yet. Then, having eaten, he retired to the salon to read the papers. He had been there for an hour when the sound of voices reached him from outside. Glancing out of the window he saw a group of laughing children having a snowball fight. In spite of his frustration, Max grinned. They had the right idea. It was a matter of making the best of things. The thought of some fresh air was by no means displeasing. Besides, the solitude of the grounds would give him leisure to think.

  * * *

  Having lain awake until the wee small hours, Vivien was later than usual in rising next morning. By the time she went downstairs the men were gone so she breakfasted with Annabel and Mary. After that she checked to see that Aunt Winifred was all right. Having ascertained that all was well there, she went to find out what her children were up to. Although Miss Dawson was a kind and competent governess, Vivien was a regular visitor to the nursery. She had never subscribed to the view that children were only to be brought out for their parents’ inspection for ten minutes once a day. Hugh had been rather surprised by her attitude. Although he was proud of his offspring and treated them kindly, he felt no inclination to spend much time in their company, preferring to be in his library. As a result, their early years largely passed him by and, as they grew older, the habit of keeping to a respectful distance had become more ingrained. By then Vivien also avoided his company when possible. It hadn’t been difficult.

  On reaching the nursery she found it empty, save for a maid who was replenishing the coals for the fire. The girl bobbed a curtsy and volunteered the information that the children had gone out into the garden to play.

  It wasn’t entirely surprising news. Rachel and John loved to be out of doors and the fresh snowfall must have been too great a temptation to resist. After all the gloom of their father’s death and their relative solitude during the period of mourning they deserved some enjoyment, and it would do them good to be in company with others of their own age. Besides, she could remember her own childish excitement when the first snow fell. She smiled to herself.

  ‘If you can’t beat ’em...’

  She returned to her room to don coat, hat and gloves and, thus prepared, sallied out into the gardens. Then she paused and listened. As she had anticipated, it wasn’t hard to find nine excited children. They were on the south lawn putting the finishing touches to a snowman, all of them laughing and chattering, their faces glowing from the cold. Seeing her approach, John and Rachel ran to meet her.

  ‘Mama! See what we’ve been doing.’

  ‘Yes, do look, Mama!’

  ‘My goodness, you have been busy,’ she replied.

  ‘Lady Dawlish’s cook gave us the coals and the carrot for the snowman’s eyes and nose...’

  ‘...and we found the twigs for his arms in the shrubbery...’

  ‘...and his hat and muffler came from the dressing-up box in the nursery...’

  Vivien smiled. ‘I think you’ve done a wonderful job.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘The snowman’s body was so big we couldn’t reach to lift his head on. Mr Calderwood had to help us.’

  Vivien blinked. ‘Mr Calderwood helped you?’

  ‘Yes. He’s very strong.’

  She cast a swift look around but finding no sign of him, relaxed a little. ‘Well, it was very kind of him to do so.’

  ‘Not at all.’ A familiar figure stepped out from behind the snowman. ‘I haven’t made one of these in years.’

  Vivien’s heart leapt towards her throat. ‘Mr Calderwood.’

  He bowed. ‘Lady Hastings, what a pleasant surprise.’

  Under the steady scrutiny of that grey gaze unease crept in, and her innocuous outing took on a different significance. Surely he could not suppose that she had come out here on purpose to meet him? Yet it was quite possible that he did. After all, had she not thrown herself at him once before? The thought was mortifying. To her horror she felt warmth rising in her face.

  ‘I confess I did not expect to see you either.’ She hesitated. ‘I came to see what the children were doing.’

  Max studied her appreciatively. The rosy flush in her cheeks was really most becoming, though he suspected it wasn’t entirely due to the cold air. Had he inadvertently made her feel uncomfortable?

  ‘They are doing very well,’ he said.

  She glanced around. ‘Is their governess not with them?’

  ‘I sent the poor woman back indoors. It’s far too cold to stand around out here.’ He gestured towards their creation. ‘What do you think?’

  The children stopped what they doing and looked round. Although they ranged in age from four to ten and would ordinarily have had different interests, the snow had created a common bond between them. Aware of all the anxious eyes turned her way Vivien gathered her wits.

  ‘I think it’s magnificent. Easily the finest snowman I’ve ever seen.’

  They let out a collective cheer. In spite of herself she laughed, aware of a sudden lightening of spirit.

  Max felt his heartbeat quicken. Laughter transformed her and suddenly the old Vivien was back with force. The result was deeply disturbing.

  ‘Your judgement is faultless,’ he said. ‘It exactly coincides with my own.’

  ‘You are clearly an expert in these matters, sir.’

  ‘My skills had become a little rusty but I’m glad to have had the opportunity to hone them again.’

  The children grinned. Then one of the older boys stepped forwards. ‘Thank you for helping us, sir.’

  The others chorused their thanks too.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ said Max. ‘However, I think that’s enough for the present.’ He bent down in front of the four-year-old and took her hand in his own. ‘Your gloves are soaking wet, sweetheart. Your fingers must be very cold.’

  She nodded solemnly. ‘I can’t feel them now.’

  ‘It’s time to go indoors and warm up.’ Hearing a few murmurs of disappointment from the older ones he smiled. ‘The snow will still be here later on, and by the look of things there will be plenty more.’

  ‘Mr Calderwood is right,’ said Vivien. ‘Just look at the sky. We’ll be up to our waists in snow very soon.’

  The children giggled.

  Max straightened. ‘Off you go now.’

  Obediently they began to troop off towards the house, he and Vivien bringing up the rear. She eyed him covertly. This was a side of him she had never seen and it intrigued her.

  ‘I had no idea that you were so good with children.’

  ‘I like them. They always keep things simple.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose they do.’

  ‘You have a fine son and daughter. Your husband must have been a proud father.’

  The mention of Hugh stirred f
eelings compounded of sadness and guilt.

  ‘I think he was in his way, but he saw relatively little of them all the same.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Enjoyment to him consisted of reading in his library.’

  ‘Reading is a worthy pursuit.’

  ‘Yes, but not when indulged to the exclusion of all else.’

  He shot her a quizzical look. ‘To do that would be to miss a great deal of fun.’

  ‘Fun was an unfamiliar concept to Hugh.’

  As soon as the words were spoken she realised that perhaps they revealed more than she had intended. It was hardly appropriate to be discussing her former marriage in this way. She had forgotten how disarmingly easy it could be to talk to Max.

  ‘Was India fun?’ she asked.

  ‘Sometimes. Mostly it was hard work mingled with inconvenience.’

  ‘You were engaged in business, I collect.’

  ‘That’s right. Spices mostly, but also silks and jewels.’

  ‘It sounds very exotic.’

  ‘It was a means to an end.’

  They reached the house and entered through a rear door. As the children ran off to the nursery, Vivien paused in the hallway.

  ‘Thank you for keeping an eye on them.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I’m sure they found your company far more agreeable than that of their respective governesses.’

  ‘It was undoubtedly the novelty factor,’ he replied, ‘along with the fact that I can lift a greater weight of snow.’

  ‘I think it was rather more than that. Children are generally good judges of character.’

  ‘You speak knowledgeably.’

  ‘Of course. I’m a mother.’ She smiled. ‘And now if you will excuse me, I must go and change.’

  Max bowed and watched her walk away. The conversation had been most illuminating and it had, unexpectedly, exploded a few of the myths he had built around her. Some of the things she had let slip didn’t tally with the idyllic marriage of his imagination. He hadn’t found out about it until a year after the event in a letter from a mutual acquaintance. He had tried not to think about Vivien in the long months after they parted, and, by throwing himself into his work, had succeeded for a while. Eventually whole days passed without her image impinging on his consciousness. The news of her marriage shook him to the core. Night was the worst time, when he lay awake in the muggy darkness and remembered what he had lost. Or rather what he had allowed himself to lose. He hadn’t let himself understand how much he wanted her; cared for her. The intensity of what he felt was unlike anything in his life before. It had frightened him and he’d backed off, uncertain about commitment. His jaw tightened. If it were all to do again... Unfortunately though, one couldn’t turn back the clock.