Christine sighed, grateful for her own parents’ generosity in considering their daughters’ heart’s desire. “Have you spoken to your brother?” she asked, remembering the kindness in those grey eyes.
Eleanor shook her head. “Mother would be furious if she knew I was trying to go against her wishes. I barely managed to voice my objections to her. She is…she is…”
Christine nodded. “I know.”
“The Christmas Ball is all I have left,” Eleanor whispered, eyes once more shifting to the door. “If I am to choose a husband next season, then my only wish is to enjoy one night with the man I love.” An innocent sparkle came to her eyes. “I want to dance and laugh and…” Biting her lower lip, she stopped, a rosy glow coming to her cheeks.
“And?” Christine pressed.
Eleanor swallowed, then straightened her shoulders and met Christine’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. “And I want a kiss under the mistletoe,” she stated. “In fact, I demand one. So that I will always remember what it feels like to be kissed by a man I love.”
Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine − To Love or Not to Love
The following week, Christine found herself unusually reflective. Whenever she did not sit with Eleanor, doing her best to lift the young woman’s spirits, or exchange a careful word with Wesley under the watchful eyes of their host, Christine wandered from room to room, gazing out the windows, lost in thought.
Eleanor’s confession had stirred something deep within her, and Christine began to wonder if she was making a mistake. The doomed love that lived in the young woman’s heart and frequently spilled down her cheeks made Christine cherish the freedom she herself had. The freedom to choose. And yet, long ago, she had made the choice to remain unmarried, free of the burdens marriage would inevitably bring.
But was it truly inevitable?
“Are you betrothed?” Eleanor asked her one snowy afternoon as they sat alone in the drawing room. While the younger woman tended to her embroidery, Christine once again found herself standing by the window, staring out at the white blanket draped over the earth.
“Betrothed?” The question jolted her awake, and she turned to look at Eleanor. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I admit I’m curious,” Eleanor said, eyes darting back and forth between Christine as well as the cushion and needle in her hands. “You’re so delightful. Men must be fighting for your hand in marriage, and yet, you’re still unmarried after all the seasons you must have−” Eyes going wide, Eleanor dropped the cushion and needle and clamped a hand over her mouth.
Watching her with amusement, Christine chuckled.
“I’m sorry,” Eleanor whispered, an embarrassed glow coming to her cheeks. “I did not mean to say that you’re…”
“Old?” Christine asked, then she shook her head and laughed. “Do not worry, dear Eleanor. I’m well aware that I’m not a young girl anymore.”
After taking a couple of deep breaths, Eleanor seemed to relax. “I was just curious,” she whispered once again, her eyes returning to her embroidery.
“No,” Christine answered, taking a seat next to her. “I’m not betrothed, and I don’t ever intend to be.”
Again, Eleanor’s eyes bulged. “Why ever not?”
Christine shrugged. “That is difficult to explain. I…”
“But I thought you were betrothed to Wesley Everett,” Eleanor interrupted, her cushion all but forgotten. “Whenever you enter a room, he immediately notices. He always takes a deep breath as though he feels the need to steady his nerves in your presence and his eyes follow you everywhere.” A deep smile came to her lips. “He looks at you the same way…,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “the same way Henry looks at me.”
Christine swallowed as she couldn’t help but notice that her heart jumped with joy. Did he truly care for her? Did he love her? Had Wesley not always been the kind of man who knew how to enjoy life and would only take a wife because it was expected of him, not because he wanted to?
However, what was even more confusing was that her heart seemed to be enjoying Eleanor’s observation, sending a myriad of butterflies into her belly. Christine couldn’t help but wonder whether her reaction to him was merely due to his physical attraction or whether it spoke of a much deeper bond. Her mind, though, didn’t dare consider that option.
“I admit I do care for him,” Christine said, knowing that denying the obvious would only increase Eleanor’s curiosity. “However, I do not believe in marriage.”
As expected, the young woman’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t…? What do you mean? The only reason a woman does not get married is because she cannot procure a husband. Why would you choose not to marry?”
Christine sighed, doubting the wisdom of sharing her innermost thoughts on the constitution of marriage with a young woman in love like Eleanor. “Because love doesn’t always last,” she finally said, hoping her words would not offend her companion. “I’ve found myself…let’s say, taken with a man before. However, eventually my feelings have always disappeared. What if I had married one of these men? Then I would be trapped in a loveless marriage and might even find myself longing for another man.” Shaking her head, Christine looked at Eleanor’s eager face. “I’m not the kind of woman to betray a promise once given. I’d rather not promise anything I am not certain I can keep.”
Eleanor nodded. “I admit your words have merit,” she said, suddenly sounding older than her years, “and I understand the worry that lives in your heart. However, maybe you’ve never truly been in love.” An apologetic smile on her face, she met Christine’s eyes. “I do not mean to offend you, but maybe you’ve never been tempted to marry because you’ve never been in love.”
Christine took a deep breath.
“Love is,” sighing, Eleanor gazed into the distance, a deep smile on her young face, “it is all-consuming and powerful. Although, yes, I admit sometimes it does not last a lifetime, it is well-worth the risk. Even if it fades eventually, in exchange for its loss, you’ve had years of unbelievable bliss.”
A soft smile came to Christine’s face as she watched her young friend.
“However, as intense as an infatuation might be,” Eleanor continued, “it rarely survives the daily struggles it often faces and quickly burns out. It is no match for love.”
A smile on her face, Christine shook her head and gently placed her hand on Eleanor’s. “You’re wise for someone so young,” she said, admiration ringing in her voice.
A soft blush came to Eleanor’s cheeks. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” she admitted. “I know that if I do not marry Henry but another, my life will be a life of regret. However, I find myself unable to go against everything I was raised to be.” She dropped her gaze, her fingers twirling the needle’s thread. “Henry has never asked,” she admitted quietly. “In moments of doubt, I feel uncertain if it is because he knows we have no future or if it is because he does not love me as much as I love him.”
Christine sighed. Since she had never seen them together, she could not offer any reassurance on the matter. However, would it even be wise to do so? After all, Eleanor knew as well as she did herself that there was little to no chance for a happily-ever-after for the two of them. Ought she feed the young woman’s hopes when they would likely be crushed before the end of the next season?
Once again, Christine realised how fortunate she was not to be pressured into accepting a man she did not care for merely because he was suitable in the eyes of her parents. She had the choice to choose a man she loved, and yet, she spurned her fortune at every turn.
For once, Christine did not wonder whether Wesley loved her or whether she loved him, but instead she thought about whether or not−if that were the case−she ought to marry for love? Or was Eleanor’s emphatic speech messing with her rationally achieved principles? And who ought to decide? Her heart or her mind?
* * *
While Christine spent most of her time in Eleanor’s company, Wesley found
himself wandering the halls of Stanhope Grove alone. Although his friend often sought him out, asking questions that Wesley didn’t dare answer, Wesley’s monosyllabic answers would quickly drive him from his side.
“I’ve never known you to be this glum,” Lord Stanhope observed, his sharp eyes watching him. “I fail to understand why you do not simply ask for her hand in marriage. You’re quite obviously taken with her.”
Not meeting his friend’s eyes, Wesley cleared his throat. “It is not that simple.”
“In the past week, you’ve said so a thousand times,” Lord Stanhope observed, “and yet, I fail to see the complication you’re referring to.”
Wesley shook his head. What was he to say? Never had he thought of himself as one to fall head over heels in love with a woman he hardly knew, and when it finally had happened, he had done his best to ignore her, banish her from his thoughts and more importantly from his heart. But what good had it done him?
The second their paths had crossed once more, he had lost his heart to her all over again.
And as though fortune had a cruel sense of irony, she had refused him. However, he couldn’t very well confess such a thing to Stanhope, could he?
“Does her heart belong to another?” his friend asked when Wesley remained quiet, still contemplating how best to evade these continued questions.
Dear God, I hope not!
Gritting his teeth, Wesley forced air into his lungs, willing his heart to slow to a more moderate pace. “Not as far as I know,” he finally admitted, hoping that what he said was true. After all, she had never spoken of love. She had only ever…invited him into her bed. Did she even care for him? Or was he simply an opportunity to test her newest theory?
As Wesley continued to stare out the window, his friend shook his head, then placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I may not be the most reliable judge in these matters,” he said, “but I do believe that she cares for you.” Then he stepped back and walked away.
Squaring his shoulders, Wesley felt his hands begin to tremble as his heart danced in his chest, and he had to fight the glowing smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Stanhope was a man of principle and truthfulness. Not unlike Wesley himself, he knew very little about matters of the heart and had in all likelihood misinterpreted Christine’s behaviour. After all, considering the frank and open way she had always spoken to him, she had not once said anything about love.
Did you? A little voice whispered, but Wesley instantly shushed it.
“Oh!”
That soft, slightly breathless exclamation jolted Wesley from his thoughts, and he spun around to find the woman he…Christine standing just inside the door. One hand on the handle, she seemed to hesitate as her eyes searched his face, a hint of a rosy blush colouring her cheeks.
It only took Wesley one moment to realise that something was different.
Gone was the self-assured and daring woman, who had never flinched under anyone’s gaze, who had never dropped her eyes in embarrassment or refrained from speaking whatever was on her mind.
The woman who now stood across from him seemed a mere shadow of the lady who had stolen his heart. Her eyes barely met his, and she gnawed on her lower lip, a nervous tremble in her hands. “I should leave,” she whispered as though she were a debutante afraid of the repercussions of being discovered in a man’s presence without a chaperone.
Wesley snorted at the thought, and her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. “Do you suddenly fear for your reputation?” he asked, strolling toward her, his gaze trained on her face, curiously watching her reaction.
A familiar smile lit up her face, and a hint of mischief came to her eyes as she firmly closed the door behind her. “Not at all,” Christine said, her gaze resting on his as he moved toward her. “I merely thought to spare our hostess the shock should she happen to come upon us. The poor lady is quite distraught with our presence in her home.”
“How very considerate of you,” Wesley mocked as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of her. His head spun, and his hands itched to reach for her as his eyes travelled from hers down to her lips.
A knowing smile curled up her mouth. “But kind sir, I was under the impression that your interest in me was of a purely platonic nature.”
Wesley snorted. “What gave you that idea? After all, was it not I who asked for your hand in marriage?”
At his words, Christine sobered and her eyes became serious. “It was, yes,” she confirmed, inhaling deeply as she held his gaze. “However, you were also the one who…refused to…” She swallowed before an embarrassed smile came to her face and she bit her lower lip. “You are correct. I do have trouble saying it out loud.”
Wesley smiled, delighted with her honesty. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked, stepping closer so that she had to tilt up her head to hold his gaze.
“About your proposal?” she asked, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Or mine?”
Wesley gritted his teeth as his hands settled on her waist. “Mine,” he almost growled out, and his arms closed around her possessively.
Trembling, she drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes, however, rested steadily on his. “I have not,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed as his pulse hammered in his veins. “And yours?” he snapped.
Holding his gaze, she shook her head. “I know what I want,” she said, a challenge in her tone. “Do you?”
In that moment as he held her in his arms, Wesley couldn’t quite recall the reasons for his refusal. He knew exactly what he wanted, and as though of its own volition, his head lowered itself down to hers, his eyes fixed on her lips.
And yet, a quiet voice whispered that that was not all he wanted.
Stopping a hair’s breadth from her lips, he looked up into her eyes. “Is it truly of no importance to you whether I care for you or not?” he asked. “Do you not object to a man who only desires your body but does not care the slightest bit for who you are?”
Pressing her lips together, Christine held his gaze, a hint of annoyance in her eyes. “Why do you judge me for something that you’ve done yourself?”
Swallowing, Wesley stepped back. “I do not judge you.”
“You do not?” she mocked, shaking her head. “Then you have exchanged words of love with every woman who has given herself to you?”
“Of course not,” Wesley snapped, annoyed with her tendency to generalise their relationship. “That was different. You’re−”
“Different?” Christine mocked. “Of course, it is always different for men. A woman has to guard her innocence like a precious good while men boast of the number of their conquests.” Shaking her head, she eyed him curiously. “I never thought you were one of those who−”
“I am not,” Wesley insisted. His eyes hard, he glared at her, forcing himself to remain calm. How could he make her understand that he did not care the slightest bit what men and women in general did? That he only cared about what she did? About what she felt?
He took a deep breath. “I don’t just want to be any man you invite into your bed,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “I want…I…”
“What?”
Before he could say another word, a knock sounded on the other side of the door, and they both froze. “Christine, are you in there?” came Eleanor’s voice. “A letter was just delivered for you.”
Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten − A Wife's Return
As the footmen loaded their luggage onto the carriage, Christine stood on the stoop hugging Eleanor. Over the past week, she had grown quite fond of the young woman and desperately wished there was something she could do to help. However, one look at Lady Stanhope’s stony face told her that such a wish was futile.
“I wish you could stay,” Eleanor cried, brushing away a single tear. “It’s been so wonderful,” she glanced at her mother, “talking to you.”
Christine smiled. “Write to me.”
Eleanor nodded vehemently.
�
��And we shall see each other at the Christmas Ball,” Christine reminded her before she hugged Eleanor once more and whispered in her ear. “I shall do what I can to ensure that you receive the kiss you hope for.”
Pulling back, Eleanor met her eyes, and a soft smile spread over her face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sister to confide in. Now, I know.”
With a heavy heart, Christine bid Eleanor goodbye and took her seat in the carriage. A moment later, Wesley joined her, and before long, they were on their way back to Harrington Park.
“What did the letter say?” Wesley asked when Stanhope Grove had disappeared from view.
Turning her head from the window, Christine met his gaze. “She asked us to return.”
Wesley sighed. “Yes, you said so,” he mumbled, a hint of exasperation in his voice, “but why? Did she not give a reason?”
Christine swallowed, seeing the tension on his face. Holding her gaze, he sat across from her with his body rigid and his muscles clenched, and she had no trouble reading the worry in his blue eyes. “Apparently,” she cleared her throat, “William asked for my return.”
Wesley’s eyes flew open. “He did? What does that mean? Do you think it did not work?”
Christine shrugged as a cold chill crawled down her back. “I have no way of knowing that,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “I can only hope that there is another explanation.”
Wesley snorted, a hint of annoyance coming to his face.
Glaring at him, Christine crossed her arms. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
A Lady’s Christmas Rake Page 37
