by Jo Ann Brown
“I am beginning to think the rules of being a host are designed to make someone do what they don’t want to do.”
She laughed. “Now you finally have learned what you need to know.”
He chuckled with her before going to where Shadow waited patiently. As he swung up into the saddle, he almost jumped down again. If he did, Carrie would be disappointed in him. He did not want her ever to feel that way about him, so he waved farewell and followed the coach out of the valley, though his heart was begging him to stay with her.
* * *
Carrie watched until the carriage and Jacob were out of sight. She gave Gil a smile. In the most cheerful voice she could manage, she said, “We need more holly. Let’s cut it.”
“What about Jacob? Where is he going?”
“Home.”
“Why?”
“The others are too cold.” She forestalled his next question by saying, “We cannot stay much longer ourselves. Let’s collect as much holly as we can before we have to leave.”
She went through the motions and even managed to tease Gil, but her heart ached. That Jacob had done as she taught him was excellent. He was putting his family’s needs first. She should be proud of him, and she was, but she could not help wishing he had not been quite so attentive a student.
Lord, let me rejoice in what Jacob has accomplished instead of being tangled in my yearnings for his company. I need to be as selfless as he is, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. Help me remember that.
Carrie’s shoulders felt lighter after she had shared her quandary with God. She started singing again and smiled when Gil sang along with her.
Within an hour, the wind was strengthening, which was a good reason to leave. Gil climbed in while she loosened the reins from around a tree. The jangle of the bells accompanied her as she sat next to the little boy.
She started to turn the horse in the narrow space between the trees. Suddenly it shied and jerked to the left. She did not see what had frightened it as the sleigh snapped like a riding crop. She ducked as it swung beneath some low tree branches and grabbed for Gil with one hand as she struggled to hold on to the reins with the other.
Gil cried out in terror as the sleigh slammed sideways into the trees. A loud crack echoed through the woods, and the concussion vibrated through her. The reins whipped out of her hand. The horse vanished toward the road, dragging the traces in its wake.
“Are you hurt?” she asked Gil.
He shook his head and clung to her. She winced as she moved her left hand to check his limbs. Both her elbow and her wrist were going to be bruised, but they had suffered no other injuries. Sending up a prayer of gratitude, she pushed aside the branches and climbed out on Gil’s side. Her side was pressed up against the tree, misshapen and cracked.
Carrie took a deep breath but could not make her knees stop shaking as she looked at the damage. Even if the horse had not run off, the vehicle was useless. One runner was bent and the other broken off and lying in the snow. Cut greenery was scattered in an abstract pattern around them.
Gil picked up a piece of holly and held it out to her. “Holly.”
“Yes.” She took it before she hugged him again.
“Ouchie,” he said, pointing to the sleigh.
She nodded. “It definitely has an ouchie. We will have to send someone to get it and our greenery. Let’s go. It is a long walk to Cothaire.” She could stop at any cottage in the village, but even that would be a walk of at least a mile. Looking up, she saw the sun was not far from the western horizon, and clouds were gathering.
Gil wanted to walk on his own, but Carrie lifted him on to her back as she had seen Jacob do. He clung while she pushed her way through the snow. Each step was difficult, and, by the time she reached the road where the carriage had stopped, she was panting as if she had run at top speed from Porthlowen to London.
Making sure Gil was secure, she headed toward the village. She set him on his feet when he insisted because she did not want to waste strength arguing. When he tired, she would carry him once more.
Suddenly he ran forward.
She cried out and gave chase as hoofbeats came toward them. If the rider did not see Gil, he could be run down.
The horse slowed, and she heard the little boy shout, “Jacob!”
Stumbling to a stop, Carrie watched as Jacob halted his horse. She stayed where she was when he jumped down and hugged the little boy. He asked Gil a question she could not hear past her heart that pounded even faster, when, after lifting the little boy and setting him on his shoulders, Jacob strode toward her.
He had put a cape over his greatcoat, and it flowed behind him like a dark stream. His hazel eyes focused on her face. She fought every instinct that urged her forward to embrace him as Gil had. How she longed for those strong, tender arms around her, holding her close to him!
Instead of doing as she wished, she said, “You came back.”
“Are you all right?” Jacob asked, and she was glad he did not respond to her foolish comment. “Gil says you hit a tree.”
“We were bumped about, but we are fine. The horse broke free.”
“I know. I saw it racing home. That is why I rushed here at Shadow’s top speed.”
“But why are you here?”
“You didn’t think I would leave you here alone, did you?”
“I have told you I am safe on these hills.” When he arched his brows, she sighed. “It is true the sleigh slid into the trees, but we could have reached Cothaire before dark.”
He set Gil on top of his horse. “I am sure you could have, but you would have been half-frozen.”
“I do appreciate how concerned you are for us.”
“Who taught me a gentleman should think first of a lady’s needs?”
She smiled. “Not me.”
“Quite to the contrary. You told me I should always follow a lady’s lead in conversation and make sure she is greeted properly.” He gave her a lazy grin. “You did not teach me I should rescue a lady from a sleigh mishap, but I could infer that from your other lessons.”
“I am glad.”
“I am, too. Let me get you up on Shadow and take you two to Cothaire.”
Exhausted, she nodded as she stepped closer. She drew in his warm, masculine scent as she put her hands on his shoulders. When she put her boot on his clasped hands, he lifted her as easily as if she weighed no more than Gil.
He undid his cape and told her to wrap it around herself and the child. When she protested, he insisted he would be kept warm on the lee side of the big horse. She was grateful for the thick wool when the wind grew stronger as they reached the village. She picked out the lighted windows in the great house and watched as they came closer.
Gil cheered when they went through the gate. He began to babble about how he intended to share their adventures with Bertie and Joy.
They stopped not far from the front door. As soon as Jacob lifted Gil from the saddle, the little boy ran to the house. The door was opened, and he vanished inside.
Carrie leaned forward to put her hands on Jacob’s shoulders so he could assist her from the tall horse. Snow crunched beneath her boots when her feet settled on the ground, and she stood between him and the horse. She was about to thank him for coming to their rescue when he cupped her chin, tilting her mouth toward him. With a gentleness that set her heart to beating like a storm wave upon the shore, he brushed his lips against hers. He drew back for a moment. To let her decide? Didn’t he know she already had decided she wanted him to kiss her? Not once and not as lightly as he would the children. She wanted him to kiss her.
Her hands slid up to his shoulders and along his nape. He smiled in the moment before she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. His kiss remained gentle, but it deepened as he drew
her into his embrace. She had no idea if seconds or an eternity passed before he raised his head. All she knew was even her dreams had never been as glorious as this moment.
He kissed the tip of her nose, and she laughed. That sound turned into a gulp when she saw in his eyes how much he wanted to kiss her again.
Had she lost her mind completely? She should not be kissing a man she could not marry. When she stepped away from him, his eyes narrowed.
“Carrie?” he asked. “If I did something wrong, tell me, because I cannot imagine kissing you being a mistake.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. This time, there would be no lesson for her to explain to him what he had done wrong. He had not made a mistake.
She had. The biggest one she could, for she was falling in love with him, even though she knew there was no future for them other than as friends. Letting him think anything else was possible had been wrong, even though she had not intentionally led him on.
Running into the house, she went up the stairs as fast as she could. She heard Jacob behind her in the entry hall, but did not slow until she had reached her bedroom. She went in and closed the door. Sinking on to the closest chair, she hid her face in her hands.
She had not guessed how truly alone she had felt since John’s death. She had known it seemed as if half of her was gone, but she had never examined those feelings to discover their depths. Maybe she had been afraid to. Maybe she had seen the futility of it when there was no one to fill the void left behind.
Then the children had come to Cothaire, and she could have the family she had dreamed of. It was an improvised family, but better than the life she had been living. However, until Jacob had asked for her help, she had not accepted the truth of how much she missed having a man look at her as if she were the only woman in the world.
Lord, I have lost my way. And my heart, but You know I must never follow it into Jacob’s arms. Help me. I cannot do this by myself any longer.
Chapter Fourteen
Usually Carrie treasured having a few minutes to herself, but she did not the day after Jacob kissed her. She wanted to be busy so she had no time to think. She tried to keep herself occupied, which should have been easy in the week before Christmas. Every task she thought of was already being done by someone else. Which was why, in spite of her efforts, she found herself alone in the solar in the middle of the afternoon, staring at the snow falling against the windows. Neither of the children had protested taking a nap, and the rest of her family was busy with tasks of their own.
Was this what the rest of her life would be like? A desperate race to fill every hour so she had no time to rediscover how lonely being alone could be?
Last winter, before the children’s arrival and her brothers and sister marrying, she had enjoyed long conversations with them and her father by a cozy hearth. When his gout bothered him, she had kept him company so he could concentrate on what she had to say instead of the pain. She had not spent an afternoon with her father for almost three months because her life had been caught up with taking care of the children and with helping Jacob.
She went to the smoking room where Father spent his afternoons, but he was not there. Hoping the gout had not returned, she went to the suite of rooms attached to his bedchamber. Baricoat stood on guard at the door and shook his head as she approached.
“His lordship is with the doctor, and he asked they not be disturbed during the examination.” The butler unbent enough to add, “The earl is feeling fine, my lady, but Mr. Hockbridge asked for privacy.”
She nodded, then walked away. Maybe she should get a book. She usually had time to read only before her nightly prayers. Reading aloud to the children was not the same as enjoying a book herself.
Choosing a volume of poetry from the book-room, Carrie sat by a window where the light was best. She turned a few pages, but her gaze was caught by a motion beyond the garden. A rider! Her heart thumped wildly as she watched him. Was it Jacob?
Instantly, she forced her gaze to the book. She rubbed the bridge of her nose as pain throbbed across her forehead. Whether it was Jacob or not should have no bearing. She was being an air-dreamer to allow herself to fall in love with him. Doing that risked losing him completely because it was sure to tarnish their friendship.
“I hope I am not intruding,” said a male voice from the doorway. When the man stepped forward, she realized it was the doctor.
“Mr. Hockbridge, do come in,” she said, closing the book without having read a single word. “What may I do for you today?”
“I would like to speak with you a moment, if I may.”
“Certainly.” She did not ask the questions clamoring against her lips. Mr. Hockbridge had been with Father. Had he found something about her father’s health he wished to discuss with her? “Shall I ring for tea?”
“That would be nice.” He smiled. “I had very little to eat for breakfast, and I was forced to skip the midday meal. With the sickness in the village and surrounding area, I have been even busier than usual.”
While waiting for the tea, they conversed about the ague and the weather. The hearty tea was delivered, and the subject changed to the upcoming Christmas service at the church, especially the children’s choir. Mr. Hockbridge spoke of how many children he had tended to who were eager to feel good enough to participate on Christmas morning.
“It should be enthusiastic,” Carrie said with a chuckle, “though I cannot guarantee they will sing the same words at the same time. Elisabeth told me that she postponed practices until more of the children are well enough to come.”
“Only a few are confined to bed now, so you should feel free to hold practice whenever you and Mrs. Trelawney wish.”
“I will let Elisabeth know. Thank you.”
He nodded as he wolfed down a pair of roast beef sandwiches. Carrie tried to keep the conversation going so neither of them felt uncomfortable in the silence.
“Lady Caroline,” the doctor said, interrupting her tale of Joy’s first tooth, “I have something very important to speak to you about, something I discussed with your father before I came to see you.”
“Is Father all right?”
Mr. Hockbridge smiled, but he was abruptly so tense the expression looked macabre. “The earl is fine. In fact, I would say he is doing better than he has for the past two years.”
“I am happy to hear that.”
“I hope you will be as happy to hear what I came to talk about with you.” He straightened his shoulders. “My lady, the topic I spoke about with the earl was you.”
“Me? Why would you need to discuss me? I am not ill.”
“No, you most certainly are not. However, you are alone, and it is not a state the good Lord wishes for us. I have admired you from afar since my return to Porthlowen, and I have always counted your kindness—dare I say friendship?—among God’s blessings to me. I would not want to ruin our friendship, but I can remain silent no longer. I am hoping my esteem is returned, and you will agree to let me court you.”
“Court me?” Unsteady laughter scraped her throat, but she silenced it when she saw the truth on Mr. Hockbridge’s face. He was serious in his far from romantic request.
“Your father has given me his blessing, if the situation is pleasing to you.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. Maybe once, maybe before she had spent time with Jacob and felt her heart soar when he was near, she might have been willing to reconsider her stance on remarriage. Especially with someone like Mr. Hockbridge, who would like children but did not require an heir as a peer did. It would have been a logical, convenient arrangement where she would live close to her family, and neither of them would be alone and lonely.
But now she knew it was not enough not to be lonely. The words she had spoken in the solar burst from her memory. I suspect there is a different sort
of being alone if one marries someone they do not love. She had been using that as an excuse to conceal her real reason for not planning to marry again, but the excuse was also the truth. She did not want a practical arrangement. She wanted what she had discovered with John. A deep and abiding love was a precious gift from God.
She wanted to be in love...as she was with Jacob. Accepting anything less would mean unhappiness for her and for Mr. Hockbridge.
“I am honored by your request, Mr. Hockbridge,” she said as gently as she spoke to the children, “for I do hold you in the highest esteem. However, I must say no, because I do not intend to remarry.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.” Seeing him look so dismayed, she hurried to add, “I decided after John’s death it would be for the best for me to remain at Cothaire.”
“Leo.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Leo. Can we consider ourselves good enough friends that you might use it?”
She realized she had forgotten what his given name was. Everyone addressed him and spoke of him as Mr. Hockbridge. When they were children, surely she must have known his name, though he was sent from Porthlowen to attend school at an early age.
Certainly allowing herself to call him by his first name would not be troublesome; then she knew she was fooling herself in an effort to spare his feelings. Her use of his name would suggest to others a connection between them that did not exist. It might make the situation easier for her, but looking at his face, she saw her saying yes to his request meant too much to him. He held on to the hope her agreement would be the first step toward her reconsidering his proposal.
“I am sorry, Mr. Hockbridge,” she said, coming to her feet. As he leaped up, she added, “I am so very sorry.”
“I will respect your wishes, my lady. Thank you for giving me a chance to express my feelings.” He bowed his head toward her and took his leave without another word.
She sank back in her chair, knowing she had done the right thing, but feeling more alone than ever.
* * *
