Unexpectedly, his brother asked, “And what of your affairs, Hugo? Do they prosper?”
“My affairs?” he echoed, caught off-guard by the question.
Wilf shook his head, almost indulgently. “I’m not blind, you know! It’s plain to see that you fancy Lady Madeline!”
“I find her to be a very attractive and amusing young woman—”
“Judging from the way you look at her, I think you find her much more than that!”
Hugo regarded his brother narrowly. “Do you?”
“Yes, and in my opinion, she’s just what you need!” Wilf retorted. “She’s clever, lively, and fun! Much more interesting than that Lady Althea Charley told me you’ve been courting!”
A slight noise behind them drew their attention to the doorway.
Where Lady Madeline was now standing, her face colorless and completely without expression. For one soul-freezing moment, her eyes met Hugo’s, then she was gone in a whirl of rose-colored skirts.
Damnation! Hastily setting down his glass, Hugo followed.
He overtook her in the passage, catching hold of her nearest wrist. “Madeline, for God’s sake, wait!”
She stiffened at his touch. “Let go of my arm, Lord Saxby.” Every syllable sounded as though it had been chipped from ice.
He tightened his grip instead. “Not until you hear what I have to say!”
She would not look at him but stared resolutely ahead. “What is left to say? You are engaged—to Lady Althea Clement, I surmise.”
“No. Not engaged, or even promised, I swear!”
“What is she to you, then?”
Hugo swallowed, desperately searching for the right words. “I spent some time in her company this Season, and wondered…if she and I might suit.” Wondered, had been almost convinced of it—until this past week had changed everything. Until this woman’s vivid, vibrant reality had rendered the other as pale and insubstantial as a dream, by comparison.
Lady Madeline stilled. “I know her, a little. She is pretty, well-dowered, and of impeccable birth and breeding. An excellent choice for a future countess.”
So Hugo had told himself barely a fortnight ago. Dear God, how fatuous he had been—and how blind! “Lady Madeline—”
“I suppose you’re expected at the Clements’ for Christmas?” she inquired, as though he hadn’t spoken.
“I am, but—”
“Then, by all means, you must go. Honor demands that you keep your appointment. And Lady Althea,” she turned to look at him at last, her eyes tearless but impenetrably dark in her white face, “may yet have hopes of you, raised by your previous attentions to her.”
He swallowed again, shame and guilt churning in his stomach. “On my word of honor, Lady Madeline—as little as you may regard it now—I was not bound to anyone when I came to Yorkshire!”
“Does the lady you were courting before coming here feel the same?” she countered sharply. “That neither of you are bound, and therefore free to—amuse yourselves with someone else? To indulge in some holiday frolic, of no lasting consequence?”
“Never that!” he exclaimed, appalled. “Good God, do you think me so shallow, so contemptible, that I would trifle with you, of all women?”
She closed her eyes, her face as desolate as he’d seen it in the conservatory. “I don’t know what to think of you anymore.”
The bleakness in her voice seared him to the soul. Of course she distrusted him now—she who had been so deeply hurt by Whitborough’s infidelity and who must be wondering if he were cut from the same faithless cloth.
Never before have I broken someone’s heart. And never before have I felt like such a cad.
“Madeline.” Her name was feather-light upon his tongue. “Maddie… I swear that I meant every word I said to you, tonight and every other night.”
She opened her eyes and he saw the warring emotions there before she turned away again. “I believe you, Lord Saxby. Just as I believe that you meant everything you said to Lady Althea too.” The faint tremor in her voice was almost undetectable. “I pray you will excuse me from our second dance. I find myself—indisposed.”
The arm Hugo held felt as inert and unresponsive as a statue’s. Miserably, he released her and stepped back. In desperation, he mounted one last defense. “My dear, I know I’ve handled things badly, but I swear I’ll make them right, if you just give me the chance!”
“Do not swear and eat it. Good night, Lord Saxby.”
Sparing him not a glance, Lady Madeline straightened to her full height and walked away. The light, the color, and the warmth all went with her, leaving him in the shadows.
Chapter Six
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
—William Shakespeare, Sonnet XCVII
Yorkshire, 28 December 1879
“So fair and foul a day I have not seen.”
Quoting from Macbeth might be tempting fate, but Madeline felt cross-grained enough to risk it. Still, according to superstition, it was only inside of a theatre that one should avoid doing so, and she was outside and mounted on Juno for a morning ride.
Besides, no other play happened to match her mood at present. The day was surprisingly pleasant: a mild winter sun shone overhead, making the light dusting of snow on the ground sparkle like powdered diamonds. Within Madeline’s heart, however, a storm continued to rage.
Slowing Juno to a walk, she bleakly contemplated the last week. Christmas had come and gone, along with the St. Stephen’s Day hunt. But there had been no blond, broad-shouldered Hector galloping across the fields, dazzling her with his horsemanship and the sight of him in riding dress. She’d told herself repeatedly to forget him, that there were other fish in the sea, but the empty place where he’d been felt as obvious as a missing tooth—and ached far more.
She’d been a fool not to suspect that there might be someone else he was courting. And twice a fool to let herself fall—in love? Her cheeks flamed when she remembered the way she’d confided in him, all the things she’d said that night in the conservatory. And that kiss...
I’ll make things right, if you just give me the chance! His words still rang in her ears, and she was no doubt three times a fool for wanting desperately to believe him. For hoping every day since his departure that he’d come striding through the front door—this time, to stay. As it was, her heart leapt into her throat every time she heard a carriage pull up before the house, only to sink like a stone when someone else emerged from it. Finally, disgusted with her maudlin mood, she’d fled the house for the outdoors and the soothing presence of her mare.
Unfortunately, memories of Lord Saxby accompanied her. Was he even now at the Clements’, sitting by the fire with pretty, proper Lady Althea? Listening to her with the same rapt attention he’d shown Madeline just a week ago? Smiling at her with that frank admiration in his eyes? Or worse, was he closeted with Lord Clement, discussing marriage settlements, pin money, and dowries?
Madeline’s heart clenched at the thought. She should be furious with Lord Saxby, should never want to lay eyes on him again after his deceit, and yet… a traitorous voice in her head insisted that he had never intended to deceive, that he’d spoken truly about there being no formal engagement between him and Lady Althea. And when he told her he’d meant everything he said to her.
Her mother had somehow managed to forgive her father for his infidelity, for an affair that had lasted several years. What Lord Saxby had done was nowhere near as bad: was he beyond forgiveness? And if he were to return, should she give him another chance?
But if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee… To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief. Juliet again. Madeline found herself with a degree of sympathy for the ill-fated Miss Capulet that she hadn’t experienced since she was fourteen!
The pounding of
horse’s hooves roused her from her thoughts. Glancing toward the sound, she saw a lone rider approaching, astride a handsome bay hunter who bore a strong resemblance to Lysander…
She looked again—sharply—at the rider this time. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a black Melton coat that emphasized his athletic form. The hair beneath his high-crowned hat was fair, curling over a noble brow, and his gaze was frank and open.
He reined in Lysander—it was Lysander—within a few feet of her, and they stared uncertainly at each other. His smile was absent, she noticed, and there was the faintest of creases between his brows. Indeed, he appeared unwontedly serious and almost tentative, as though unsure of his welcome. As he should be, the voice in Madeline’s head observed tartly.
It took several tries to force words past the constriction in her throat. “Lord Saxby. You’ve missed the hunt, I’m afraid.”
The commonplace words, along with her matter-of-fact tone, eased the tension. Only a fraction, but Hugo was prepared to take what he could get.
“I didn’t come for the hunt, Lady Madeline,” he replied, holding her gaze steadily. She wasn’t the sort to go into a decline over a man, but he thought she looked a trifle paler than he remembered, even with the winter chill deepening the color in her cheeks.
She looked away, as though suddenly fascinated by the scenery around them. “Am I to wish you happy, then—you and Lady Althea?”
“I am sure Lady Althea will be made happy, sooner rather than later—but not by me.”
She flicked a sideways glance at him. “No? But she is suitable for you, in every way. Moreover, I’ve heard the Clements are among the most well-behaved families in England, and their country seat—Southwood, I believe?—is accounted one of the prettiest.”
Her cool composure irked him, though he couldn’t blame her for holding him at arm’s length. After the way they’d parted, he could hardly expect her to fall into his arms the moment she saw him again. Still, two could play at this game. “Correct on both counts. The estate is handsome, and my hosts were nothing if not hospitable.”
Lady Madeline’s lips compressed, but she managed a polite nod. “I am glad to hear it, Lord Saxby.”
“Hampshire is beautiful country—well worth visiting,” Hugo went on. “And the weather was remarkably mild, for winter.”
“Mild,” in fact, summed up his entire stay with the Clements, he reflected. Even the festivities had had a muted air about them: evenings singing carols about the piano or playing cards or backgammon. No Charades—Lady Clement considered the game too frivolous—or amateur theatricals. Not even a Nativity tableau. Aloud, he said, “They keep Christmas quietly at Southwood. And the whole family agrees very happily together. I don’t believe I heard a single cross word between them while I was there.”
Lady Madeline fretted her lip—the first sign of perturbation he’d seen. “None at all? How singular.”
“No rows, no rivalries, no spats—not even between the sons. Lady Althea has two older brothers, and I gather they’re the best of friends.”
“Even more extraordinary.” She was staring resolutely down at her horse’s reins.
“Her sister, Lady Prunella, is a model of decorum, even at twelve,” Hugo continued. “Obeys her governess, only speaks when spoken to. One cannot imagine her roaming through passages in search of missing cats. Or concerning herself with the fate of a litter of kittens.”
She looked up at that, a spark in her changeable eyes. “No? Well, forgive my candor, Lord Saxby, but I would not trade our Juliana for such a one, were she ten times as decorous!”
And there was his Madeline, after all. “Nor would I,” Hugo agreed affably. “The plain truth is, I found the lot of them as placid and unexcitable as a herd of cows. Not that I’ve anything against cows, but as companions, they can be… rather less than stimulating.”
He paused, smiling into her astonished eyes. “The whole time I was there, surrounded by peace, tranquility, and good will towards men, the most absurd questions kept popping into my mind—at the most inconvenient moments! Had you found homes for all the kittens yet? Were Denforth and Lord Reginald still competing over every little thing? Why did your brother Gervase get drunk the night of the ball? And most important of all, was someone else watching the snow fall with you, and kissing you in the conservatory?”
She caught her breath, but rallied quickly. “To answer your questions: we’re keeping the last two kittens, Hal and Reg wagered yesterday on the outcome of a billiards match that lasted more than an hour, and Ger claims to remember nothing whatsoever about that night. And as to the last,” her color rose, but her gaze did not waver, “I would have to say no, to both.”
“That’s good to know. Otherwise, I might have to tear the fellow limb from limb, which would be a poor way to end the old year, or begin the new.”
Her brows arched. “Good heavens, my lord! Is Lady Althea aware of your violent tendencies?”
“No, but she is now aware of something far more important: that, while I admire and esteem her, my heart is no longer free to give. Because I left it behind, in Yorkshire. Much to my relief, she bore the news with equanimity—and bade me go in search of it.” Hugo took a breath, steeling himself for what was to come. “And so I have. I only hope that I may be allowed to retrieve it. Or better yet, that I may ask for yours in return—along with your hand.”
He thought he saw elation flare in her eyes, before they cooled to wariness again. “Do you truly believe that we would suit?”
“I do now,” he replied staunchly. “Before I came here, my sister Charley told me that I needed ‘stirring up.’ That I’d become settled and staid before my time—mainly because of our father’s accident. He was crippled more than a dozen years ago, when his carriage overturned going down a hill.”
Her expression softened at once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Father needed me to take on more responsibility, to become his right hand. I was only sixteen at the time, but I was glad to help in any way I could. I was the heir, after all—duty-bound to do the right thing by the estate and our family. Which included choosing a future countess, when the time came,” he added with a wry smile. “Lady Althea met all the requirements for the position, and I expected we would be content together. I convinced myself that that would be enough. And then I met you—and it was like seeing the world afresh, through a flash of lightning.”
“The coup de foudre,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“Just so. As it turns out, my irritating sister was right. I don’t need a proper, placid bride who’ll accommodate me. I need one who will push me, challenge me, and jolt me out of my complacency, if necessary. As you have—from the very start. Because of you, I’ve done things that it would never have occurred to me even to try.” He leaned forward in the saddle, his gaze locking with hers. “Never before have I… let myself fall deeply in love. Never before have I asked a woman to marry me. And never before has so much depended on her answer.”
Her eyes shone brilliant green in the winter sunlight, like the promise of spring to come. “Lord Saxby… you’re in good company, as it turns out. Never before have I told a man—outside of my family—that I care for him.”
“Only ‘care’?” he queried gently.
Her color deepened. “Oh, very well—‘love’! Never before have I been tempted by an offer of marriage. And never before have I said yes. Until this moment.”
“Then—it’s ‘yes’?”
She smiled then, a transcendent smile like the one he’d seen that night in the conservatory and carried in his heart since their parting. “Yes.”
Joy blazed through him, burning away all the fears and uncertainties. Kneeing Lysander forward, he drew level with her, reached out to cup her cheek. Pliant as a willow, she leaned into his embrace, her lips seeking his.
The first time either of them had kissed while on horseback.
But far from the last.
Epilogue
> At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
—Thomas Tusser, A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry
Yorkshire, 23 December 1880
“For God’s sake, Maddie! Come down from there at once and bring Baby with you!”
Securing the dangling end of the garland over the mantelpiece, Madeline smiled indulgently at Hugo before descending from the stool into his protective embrace. “In case you hadn’t noticed, darling, Baby and I are inseparable—for the next five months, anyway. And there’s no need to fuss. I was mere inches off the ground and never in any danger of falling.”
“Accidents can happen,” Hugo pointed out, resting a hand lightly on her abdomen. At four months forward, her pregnancy was just beginning to show, a gentle curve that he found every bit as arousing as her willow-wand slenderness before their wedding. “Eight months married and you’re still stopping my heart. Heaven help me if our daughter is just like you!”
“I might be having a boy,” she reminded him.
“True, but I’ve a fancy for a girl—though either would be welcome,” he added hastily.
The Whitboroughs were delighted at the prospect of their first grandchild, as were Hugo’s parents. The latter had been surprised by his choice of bride at first, but much to his relief, they’d quickly warmed to Madeline, especially when she conceived soon after the wedding. Charley, Victoria, and Wilf also approved, all declaring that she was exactly what their eldest brother needed.
Hugo had been a little nervous about his reception by his formidable in-laws. Fortunately, the Whitboroughs had welcomed him to the family: doubtless because of his sterling qualities and his willingness to take their eldest daughter off their hands, Madeline had observed wryly.
“I refuse to hear such slanders about my future wife,” Hugo had retorted, kissing her soundly. “Besides, their loss is my gain!”
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