One Wild Winter's Eve

by Anne Barton

  “I’ve just received a note from Lady Bonneville.” From the doorway, Anabelle shot an apologetic smile at Rose, who sat beside Charles’s bed, where he slept peacefully.

  It seemed to Rose that he should have awoken by now, but Daphne said he was doing well. He certainly looked well.

  Rose sighed at the sight of his wavy hair, slightly parted lips, and dangerously handsome face. In spite of a few gashes, he might have been an archangel resting after battle.

  “The viscountess is no doubt livid with me,” Rose whispered. “And I don’t blame her. I must qualify as the worst companion in the history of companions.”

  Belle shrugged. “I doubt it, at least where Lady Bonneville is concerned. The only offense she can’t forgive is being boring—and no one may accuse you of that.”

  “That is true,” Rose conceded.

  “In any case, it was a brief note. The viscountess is on her way to London and will call on you here, tomorrow afternoon. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Who’s armed?” Charles blinked, lifted his head from the pillow, and smiled when he saw her. “Not you, I hope.”

  Rose’s heart turned a cartwheel. “Charles,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his forehead. “You’re awake at last.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, love.” He reached out his left hand and cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry about your fall from the gangplank. Are you well?”

  “Now, at last, I believe I am.”

  Rose had never looked more beautiful—and that was truly saying something. Charles knew that the softness in her eyes was just for him, and he was somehow both humbled and aroused.

  Only two things prevented him from hauling Rose into his arms and kissing her silly. The first was his blasted shoulder, which hurt like the devil each time he moved. Still, he would have endured a bit of pain for a kiss if the duchess had not been standing behind Rose, her eyes suspiciously shiny behind her spectacles.

  He nodded at his hostess. “I assume I’m in your home. Thank you for the hospitality.”

  “You are, and it is I who must thank you, Mr. Holland, for saving my husband’s life.”

  “Please, call me Charles.”

  “And you must call me Belle. Rose has explained some of the trials you’ve faced during the past few weeks,” she said. “I hope you’ll allow us to assist you—for Rose’s sake as well as yours.”

  Charles stiffened. The duchess’s offer sounded an awful lot like charity. But even if he wished to deny it, he would not be rude—not when Rose stood beside him looking so hopeful. “You’re very kind,” he said.

  “Olivia and Owen are visiting Mama at the hospital,” Rose said. “I wanted to go too, but Daphne forbid it.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he confessed.

  “Did I hear Mr. Holland?” A golden-haired woman glided into the room. Charles vaguely remembered the duchess’s sister, who hurried to his side.

  “This is Daphne,” Rose explained. “She’s an excellent nurse.”

  Daphne’s kind gaze flicked over his face. “You’re looking very well.” She took a glass of water from the bedside table and held it to his lips.

  He swallowed several gulps. “Thank you.”

  With brisk, efficient movements, she checked the bandage on his shoulder, peeked underneath, and nodded approvingly. “How do you feel?”

  “Not bad, considering.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” she announced, “but the wound will take some time to heal. It’ll be very sore for a few days, so you must let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

  What he craved more than anything was a few moments alone with Rose, but he knew better than to ask for that. “Thank you.”

  Stepping back, Daphne wrapped an arm around Rose and hugged her.

  Belle joined in the embrace too, pressing her cheek to Rose’s. “Isn’t it wonderful to have her home, Daph?”

  “Indeed.” To Rose, she said, “I know you were only gone for a month or so, but everything was out of balance while you were away. And when we thought that some evil or misfortune had befallen you…  well, we were all devastated.”

  “Especially your brother,” Belle chimed in. “Last night was the first night in weeks that he’s slept soundly, and I’m certain it’s because he knew you were safe and under our roof.”

  Charles swallowed, moved by the scene.

  This was where Rose belonged. With her family, surrounded by the people she loved and who loved her.

  But she belonged with him, too.

  Somehow, he had to find a way for her to remain a part of all this—while staying true to who he was.

  The first step was meeting with the duke.

  Later that evening, Huntford strode through the bedroom door and stopped at the end of Charles’s bed, looming over him, dark and silent. It was a good thing that he wasn’t feverish, or he might have mistaken the duke for an angel of death.

  “You’re awake,” Huntford noted.

  “I am.”

  “Belle said you wished to see me.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to thank you—for bringing me here. If you hadn’t intervened, I’d be rotting in prison.”

  “True. But you wouldn’t have been shot either. The least I could do was give you a place to convalesce.” Huntford’s manner was stiff and formal. He might not be throwing punches, but Charles had the feeling he’d like to be.

  He sat up straighter in the bed, wishing he could have managed to put on his trousers, jacket, and boots and met the duke in his study. Daphne, however, in an admirably devious move, had hidden all his clothes to ensure that he stayed in bed.

  “I want to apologize,” Charles said to Huntford, “for putting your sister in danger and for the damage that I’ve caused to her reputation. You have every right to be furious with me.”

  The duke snorted and clenched his fists. “There are two reasons you’re still breathing. One, you saved my godforsaken life, and two, Rose seems rather attached to you. But if you have anything to say in your defense, now would be an ideal time to share.”

  “I love her. And I know she loves you. Which means that in order to make her happy, you and I need to reach some sort of understanding.”

  Huntford was silent for several seconds. “I’m listening.”

  “I intend to marry her, and I’d like your blessing. I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to protect her and provide for her.”

  “I can believe that you’ll protect her. But how, pray tell, do you plan to provide for her?” He swept an arm around the sumptuously decorated room. “You can see the elegance to which she’s accustomed.”

  Charles’s heart pounded. Not because he took issue with what Huntford had said—but because he agreed with it. This next part of the conversation would be the most difficult. And humbling.

  “I’d like to work for you.”

  The duke crossed his arms. “As a steward?”

  “Yes. I have a knack for making businesses—and estates—profitable. If you have a property that is losing money, give me the opportunity to turn it around. No one would work harder for you than I.”

  The duke rubbed his chin thoughtfully, clearly intrigued by the idea. “There is a small estate next to Huntford Manor. I recently acquired the neighboring property from a baron who’d let it fall into disrepair—and I’ve been pouring money into it ever since. I haven’t had much time to devote to it since Lizzy was born.”

  “I can manage it for you. By this time next year, it will be a source of income—a thriving estate with abundant crops and happy tenants.”

  “And you would support my sister on your steward’s salary? I don’t think so.” The duke began to pace at the foot of Charles’s bed. “Rose tells me that your goal is to become a landowner yourself. If she agrees to marry you, I could make the land a wedding gift to the both of you.”

  Charles shook his head. “I’d like to propose a different arrangement.”

  Huntford
arched a brow. “Go on.”

  “Let my salary be half of the income that the estate earns. And allow me to put it toward the purchase of the land.”

  The duke looked incredulous. “You’d rather buy the land from me than accept it as a gift?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope to God you have more business sense than you’re letting on right now.” But the duke leveled him a look of respect as he extended his hand. “You have a deal, Holland. And if Rose will have you…  welcome to the family.”

  “Brace yourselves,” Olivia announced to everyone in the drawing room the next afternoon. “Here she comes.”

  The she was Lady Bonneville. The viscountess shuffled into the drawing room, paused, and shook her skirts. “Shoo, beast.” She scowled at the cat circling her ankles, then shot Rose a similarly withering look. “I brought your little friend from Bath.”

  Rose leaped from her chair, greeted the viscountess, then knelt to pet Ash. “He seems quite fond of you, Lady Bonneville.”

  “Nonsense. We barely tolerate each other. However, it kept lingering about as our coach was being loaded. I took pity on the wretched thing and decided to deliver it to you. One minute into the coach ride it started shedding fur all over the velvet squabs, and I knew I’d live to regret this act of charity.” She glanced at her maid, who’d entered the room laboring under the weight of the viscountess’s infamous red footstool. “Over there, in front of the fire, Audrey.”

  The maid positioned the ottoman at Lady Bonneville’s preferred angle while the viscountess exchanged greetings with Belle, Daphne, their mother, Mrs. Honeycote, and Olivia. When she seated herself and propped up her feet, all the women sat as well, forming a circle. The drawing room suddenly took on the formality and seriousness of a meeting of Parliament. Rose suppressed a shiver.

  “I am sure you are all aware that this visit is not purely a social call,” Lady Bonneville began. “Rose and I have some unfinished matters to discuss.”

  Before Rose could respond, Belle raised her chin and addressed the viscountess. “Rose has been through much in the past several weeks, and if you have any business which is unpleasant or distressing, I must ask that you—”

  “It’s all right, Belle.” Rose shot her a grateful smile. “I’m through with avoiding unpleasant and distressing matters. Lady Bonneville is correct. I owe her an apology and an explanation.”

  The viscountess snorted indelicately. “I didn’t ride all the way from Bath to hear you grovel, gel. You did what you did, and there’s no undoing it. People are talking about the scandal, of course. On the bright side, you’ve officially shed your reputation as a quiet wallflower.”

  “An unexpected benefit,” Rose agreed. “But if you’re not here to reprimand my behavior, then why did you come?”

  Lady Bonneville smiled smugly. “To help you repair the damage to your reputation and provide you with…  an option.”

  “Would you like us to give the two of you some privacy?” Belle asked.

  “I have no objection to an audience,” the viscountess announced.

  “Nor do I. We’re all family.”

  “Thank Heaven,” Olivia exclaimed. “If you’d sent me out, I’d have been forced to press my ear to the door.”

  Lady Bonneville rapped her lorgnette on the arm of her chair to draw attention back to herself. Ash hopped onto her footstool and curled up beside her slippers. She glared at the cat but did not shoo it away. “As I was saying. After you abruptly left Bath and the scandalous rumors about prison escapes and such began to spread, I knew that repairing your good name would be nearly impossible. But all is not lost. I have been corresponding with your admirer, Lord Stanton.”

  Rose blinked. “About me?”

  “Indeed. He is quite taken with you and assured me that if you were amenable to a marriage proposal, he would overlook your sullied reputation and—”

  “Overlook her sullied reputation?” cried Olivia. “Who does he think he is? The bloody King of England?”

  Lady Bonneville sucked in her cheeks. “While your sisterly devotion is to be commended, let us not forget the facts. Rose has been thoroughly compromised. Stanton does not think this is an insurmountable problem, however, as we can simply say that she was coerced. A victim of kidnapping, if you will.”

  “I was in no way forced,” Rose ground out. “And I would never falsely accuse Charles—or anyone—to save my own skin.”

  Belle narrowed her eyes at the viscountess. “What, precisely, does Lord Stanton hope to gain, besides a wife? We know Rose is a prize, but he never struck me as the sort of man who’d be drawn to a woman with her kind and gentle nature.”

  “To put it bluntly,” Lady Bonneville replied, “he is drawn to her dowry. But I think you are all missing the point. Rose now has an option. If she wishes to get back in the good graces of the ton, there is a way.”

  “I appreciate you coming all this way, Lady Bonneville,” said Rose. “But I will never marry anyone but Charles.”

  “Am I to assume that he’s proposed? And that you have set a date?”

  Rose opened her mouth, then shut it. “Not yet.” They’d discussed it before, of course, before they bought passage on Perseverance. The ship that had literally sailed without them.

  And in all the commotion of the last two days, she and Charles hadn’t had a moment alone. When she looked into his eyes, she saw nothing but love. But would that be enough?

  “Well then,” said Lady Bonneville, “I suggest that you keep your options open for the time being. Stanton can give you respectability and a comfortable future.”

  Rose took a deep breath and stood. “I don’t give a fig about respectability and comfort. I want the type of love that takes my breath away and fills my heart with happiness and hope. I want passion and a partner who challenges me to be more than I thought I could be. I want Charles. And if I can’t have him, I want no one.”

  A slow, wide smile spread across the viscountess’s face. “Very well. I’ll inform Lord Stanton that his attentions are unwelcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He would have been the safe choice.” Lady Bonneville eased her feet off her stool and slowly stood. “And, incidentally, the wrong one. But I think it’s important that we women have choices, don’t you?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Rose nodded, walked up to the viscountess, and embraced her.

  Lady Bonneville held her tightly for several moments, sniffled, and pulled away. “Gads. That’s enough sentimentality for one day. Audrey, let’s take our leave before someone starts playing sad ballads on the pianoforte.”

  She shot a pointed look at Olivia. “I believe you and I have some additional business to attend to. Fetch your cloak so we can be off.” After a whirl of good-byes, she and her small entourage—including her furry friend—left the drawing room, their exit punctuated by the salute of Ash’s tail.

  Snow fell softly outside Rose’s window, but a low-burning fire kept her bedchamber warm and cozy. Everyone had retired for the evening, leaving the house quiet and still—almost magical. She watched the fat flakes stick to her windowpane and slowly melt, then padded across the floor to her bed, wistfully thinking of Charles, just down the hallway.

  It had taken a lot of persuading on his part, but Daphne had agreed to give him his clothes back tomorrow, which meant he could go downstairs and they might finally have a few moments alone.

  After turning down the lantern, she climbed into bed, slipped under the covers, and laid her head on the pillow.

  And something crinkled. Odd, that.

  She reached beneath her pillow and felt a small, folded piece of paper.

  Intrigued, she sat up, quickly lit the lantern, and opened up the note.

  Rose,

  You’ve waited a long time to receive a letter from me, and I fear that you are destined to be disappointed, for this will be brief.

  Knowing you are only a few doors down the hall is driving me mad.

  I
need to see you, hold you, kiss you…  and more.

  If you’re able, visit me tonight.

  Charles

  He’d written her a note. It may not have been poetic, but it was heartfelt and so…  him.

  She tucked it back under her pillow, knowing she would forever treasure it, then glided down the hall to his room. She didn’t knock at the door, but tried the handle, found that it turned, and tiptoed into the dimly lit room.

  Charles was out of bed, pacing in a pair of trousers. And nothing else, save for the sling that kept his shoulder immobile.

  Rose closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. “Where’d you find your trousers?”

  He grinned. “In the pianoforte bench. But not until after I’d searched the library and most of the drawing room.” He sauntered close and wrapped his good arm around her waist, his nearness leaving her slightly breathless.

  “You snuck out of your room?” She slipped her hands behind his back and splayed her palms over his warm skin.

  “Earlier this evening. I couldn’t stand wearing a dressing gown any longer.”

  She shrugged. “You wore it well. And there are certain advantages to a dressing gown.”

  He reached up and tugged the tie at her neck of her nightrail. “So I see.”

  “You’ve no idea,” she whispered, “how desperately I’ve missed you.”

  “I have some idea,” he growled. Then he captured her mouth in a kiss that made her knees wobble and her heart pound.

  He pulled back an inch, his eyes searching her face. “There’s so much I need to say to you, and it really shouldn’t wait.”

  “I don’t think a few more minutes will make a huge difference in the larger scheme of things. The talking can wait.”

  With a knee-weakening grin, he locked the door. “Fair warning. The things I intend to do to you are going to take more than a few minutes.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  He wrapped his good arm around her waist, lifted her off the ground, and gently laid her on the bed. “I love you, Rose.”

  “And I love you.”