‘What happened to your visit to your cousins?’ he asked quietly.
She looked at him. ‘You know already. That’s why you’re here. Did Mrs Judd tell you?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Are you angry?’
‘I was.’ Honesty compelled her to add, ‘I suppose I still am a little. What they did was wrong. But it doesn’t matter to me now.’
‘Doesn’t matter?’ He glared at her. ‘How can it not matter? They’re supposed to be your family, and—’
‘And they aren’t,’ she said. Daring, she laid a hand over his, clenched in anger on his thigh. ‘Do you know, I’ve had a lovely day. The children kept coming in with greenery and little gifts. I ate bread and plum jam with Rosie Appleby and Sally Hough, and I put extra bacon in the soup I made for supper.’ Under her hand, his relaxed, turned to clasp hers. Her breath shortened as his thumb caressed her palm, but she continued. ‘If I’d gone to my cousins I would have missed all that and I’d be spending my evening sitting in the corner of my aunt’s drawing room furthest from the fire, feeling miserable and bitter and thinking the most uncharitable thoughts about Angelica Creed.’ Instead of which she was spending the evening right in front of her own fire, with Alex Martindale holding her hand.
‘Come to Alderley with me,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’
The clasp on her hand tightened. ‘You heard me. Come to Alderley. Dominic and Pippa won’t mind, and—’
‘Alex, I couldn’t. I’ve already—’
‘Been invited to your uncle’s home?’ He snorted. ‘And they didn’t bother to send the carriage for you? Polly, you owe them nothing!’
‘I know, but—’
‘Even if they offer you a place in a carriage tomorrow after church—’
‘I’ll refuse it,’ she said.
‘You will?’ He stared at her, clearly bemused. ‘Then for heaven’s sake, why not come to Alderley?’
‘Because I’ve had another invitation,’ she said. And she told him about Caleb Fletcher. ‘So you see, if they issue the invitation again, I should accept. I couldn’t possibly not.’
‘No. You couldn’t,’ he said. The wry, crooked smile turned her heart inside out. ‘I suppose that’s part of why I love you,’ he said simply.
Her heart turned right over. ‘You...you love me?’ Affection, yes. And it appeared he desired her...but love?
He blinked. ‘Polly, I asked you to marry me. Why would I do that if I wasn’t head over heels in love with you?’
There was no answer to that. And at last she admitted to herself why the thought of telling Alex about John Frisingham terrified her—she was in love with him, all the way in love, and if he didn’t believe her, she would lose something far more precious than her fortune.
* * *
He preached on the subject of love. From his polite apology for possibly repeating things his parishioners had already heard, Polly gathered that a sermon on love was not unusual for him on Christmas Day. He spoke of how all human love was a reflection of God’s love. Love for a dog, or cat, or the land, a reflection of God’s great love for His Creation. Love for a child, a parent, the love of a man and woman, an expression of God’s love for His children. And every gift, gifts to meet a need, to give pleasure, to express love, a reflection and celebration of God’s loving gift of His son.
‘Every expression of love—verbal, spiritual—’ his gaze touched Polly’s— ‘and physical, is of God. Rejoice in it and be glad.’ He named the next hymn and stepped down from the pulpit as the choir took up their instruments.
* * *
Caleb Fletcher rushed up after the service, towing his flushed mother through the light dusting of snow. ‘Miss Polly! You didn’t go after all! Mam says you can still come to us.’ He grinned. ‘Dad says as we’ll have a snow fight after dinner, but you can just watch that if you like!’
Polly turned to Hetty Fletcher, who cuffed Caleb’s ear gently. ‘Caleb, quiet down, do!’ She smiled at Polly. ‘We’d be right pleased if you joined us for dinner, Miss Woodrowe. Right pleased.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Polly, delight flaring.
‘Oh. Hippolyta, there you are.’ Lady Eliot didn’t so much as glance at Hetty as she spoke to Polly. ‘Such a to do yesterday with the Creeds arriving. I understand the groom forgot to come for you.’
Polly dragged in a lungful of air and took a death grip on her temper, as Lady Eliot continued. ‘We were all so busy that I didn’t realise until we sat down for dinner, but—’ She spread her hands. ‘Of course the carriages are full now, too, but I have given clear instructions that—’
‘I have accepted another invitation, aunt,’ said Polly in the sweetest tones imaginable.
‘–you should be collected in time for dinner and taken home before supper. What did you say?’ She glared at Polly, affronted. ‘Accepted another invitation? And from whom does this fine invitation come, may I ask?’ She cast a derisive glance around the villagers exchanging greetings.
‘From Mrs Fletcher,’ said Polly calmly, indicating Hetty beside her. ‘And Caleb.’ She ruffled the boy’s hair.
‘Who?’ Lady Eliot stared in disdain at Hetty Fletcher. ‘Oh, yes. Fletcher the blacksmith’s wife.’ She favoured Hetty with a dismissive nod, and turned back to Polly. ‘Really, Hippolyta! You must not be taking every little thing as a personal slight. A little thought—’
‘Made it clear to me where I’d be most welcome,’ said Polly quietly.
Lady Eliot stiffened. ‘Hippolyta, it presents a very off appearance for you to be dining with—’ she cast another condescending glance at Hetty ‘—these people, very good as they may be, and—’
Hetty Fletcher snorted. ‘Off, is it? Not near so off as them who calls themselves flesh and blood, an’ don’t bother to collect a girl when they say they will.’ A fascinated silence had fallen in the churchyard and Davey Fletcher was striding towards them, but Hetty continued undaunted, her scornful gaze lighting on Tom Eliot, standing with Angelica Creed. ‘Nor yet so off as them that make up to a girl when she’s got money, but haven’t got the gumption to stand by her when she’s robbed blind.’ Tom’s face went crimson.
By now Fletcher had reached his wife. ‘Easy then, Hetty love—’
She whirled around on him. ‘Don’t you gentle me like the horses in your smithy, Davey Fletcher! I speak as I find. Always did.’ She patted Polly’s hand. ‘We got a goose this year. Raised him meself.’ She directed a sizzling glare at Tom Eliot and continued, ‘Lord Tom Noddy we called him and I’m makin’ a nice gravy with his giblets! Best thing for ’em, if you was to ask me.’
Polly nearly choked, wondering just whose giblets were under discussion.
Lady Eliot’s colour rose. ‘If you imagine your opinion is of the least interest to me, my good woman—’
Mrs Fletcher let out a crack of laughter. ‘I’d imagine it’s of about as much interest to you as yours is to me and mine. I’ll wish you a Merry Christmas, my lady.’ She patted Polly’s hand. ‘You come along soon as you’re ready, dearie.’ And she favoured Lady Eliot with a nod, turned her back and walked off.
‘It’s very kind of you, Aunt Eliot,’ said Polly politely, ‘but I am sure you will all enjoy your Christmas dinner anyway. Do congratulate Tom for me and wish Miss Creed very happy. Good day.’
Lady Eliot swelled. ‘And this is your choice?’
‘Yes.’ She was utterly sure of it. This was her choice and not the least hint of bitterness to taint it. ‘Merry Christmas, Aunt,’ she said. And meant it. Because she was happy. Deep down, in-the-bone, happy.
Her aunt stared at her for a moment and then, lips thin with fury, stalked away.
‘Well done.’
Alex stood behind her. The twinkle in his eye told her he’d heard everything. ‘If you go on with Mrs Fletcher, I’l
l join you there after I’ve made a couple of visits.’
She blinked. ‘But...you’re going to Alderley for dinner!’
Alex smiled. ‘Not now. I cadged an invitation from Davey and Hetty, so Dominic and Pippa expect us for supper instead. I’m to drive you over in the gig after dinner.’ He took her hand in his strong clasp. ‘They quite understand. Your baggage is going back with them now.’
Baggage? What baggage?
She looked across the churchyard at Lord Alderley and Pippa, who smiled back. She wondered what it was that they quite understood. Rather more than she did, she suspected.
* * *
That intense happiness remained with her all through dinner.
Mama and Papa would have enjoyed this.
The laughter, the homely fragrance of the dinner, the bright faces around the table. The whole Fletcher family, from Davey’s father down to a newborn niece, was there and a number of friends, besides herself and Alex. It had been like this when she was little. Papa had often invited friends and even employees to join them for the day. She remembered him laughing at the head of the table, teasing Mama about the size of the goose he was carving... Sometimes, if the frost had been hard enough, they had skated after dinner, flying along the ice, Papa and Mama holding hands...
She had thought all this lost to her for ever, but perhaps it wasn’t. Looking up, she found Alex’s dark gaze on her, full of understanding.
This could be ours. All of it.
* * *
Snowballs whizzed through the air after dinner. Being an only child, snowball fights were not something she was at all familiar with...although it looked as though Alex was. She blinked as Caleb caught him in the side of the head with a well-aimed snowball and fled, shrieking with glee, as the rector scooped up snow, threatening dire retribution.
He came back, laughing and brushing snow from his shoulders. ‘We’ll have to go in a moment,’ he said. ‘The light will go soon and it’s likely to snow again.’
‘It’s been lovely,’ she said wistfully.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A little different from the Eliots, I dare say.’ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘Just a little,’ she agreed.
‘I particularly appreciated Lord Tom Noddy’s giblets,’ he said, grinning openly.
‘Aunt Eliot didn’t,’ said Polly. ‘She’ll never speak to me again!’
Alex chuckled. ‘Sadly for you, my love, she’ll have to. Politely, too. As my wife, she won’t be able to ignore you.’
Polly’s breath caught. ‘Alex, I haven’t—you need to think. Your family—’
‘They like you very much, if you hadn’t noticed,’ he said.
‘As the village school mistress, perhaps, but—’
‘As Polly Woodrowe,’ he corrected her. ‘Do not confuse my cousins with your cousins!’ He gave her a little shake. ‘What’s happened to my independent, unnatural Miss Woodrowe?’
His.
She took a trembling breath. She was such a coward not to have told him the truth...
‘Alex?’
‘Yes?’
His smile tore at her. ‘Do you...do you skate?’
The smile deepened. ‘Badly. We’ll find some skates at Alderley.’
Chapter Eight
Supper at Alderley was not as rowdy as dinner at the Fletchers, but it was no less joyful. Pippa’s father, Philip Winterbourne, was there, doting on his grandchildren and regaling them all with tales of his travels. Alex had always liked the old man enormously. He no longer travelled as widely as he had once and now made a point of visiting his daughter each Christmas.
‘Making up for all the Christmases I missed when she was a little slip of a thing,’ he explained to Polly. The shrewd eyes didn’t miss much and Alex caught them on his own face, considering. The old fellow gave him a knowing smile and raised his glass. ‘To Christmas, past, present and future.’
Next Christmas... Alex smiled at Polly as he raised his glass and drank. They all did, and then Dominic lifted his yawning daughter into his arms and said, ‘Someone’s bedtime, I think.’ He stood carefully and carried the child out, Pippa’s setter, Ben, at his heels.
Beside him Polly covered a yawn. She flushed. ‘I’m so sorry. It was just little Emma’s yawn started me off—’
Pippa laughed. ‘If you’re tired, I’ll take you up. Don’t feel you must stay up if you’d rather not.’
‘Well...’
Alex rose and held out his hand. ‘Come. I’ll see you to the stairs.’
* * *
Next Christmas, Alex thought, as he bade Polly a chaste goodnight at the foot of the stairs under Pippa’s admittedly benign gaze, he would be escorting Polly upstairs himself. He hoped.
As it was, he shut his eyes. It was probably a very good thing he had no idea which bedchamber Pippa had given Polly.
‘Are you feeling quite the thing, Alex?’ asked Pippa. One look at her amused face told him that she knew exactly what he was feeling.
‘Quite well.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m going to the library. When you see Dominic, you might tell him there was something I wanted to ask him about.’
Pippa smiled. ‘Of course. I’ll send him down.’
* * *
He felt a complete idiot and Dominic was probably going to roast him mercilessly. But who the deuce but Dominic could he ask for advice on such a subject? He loosened his cravat with restless fingers. Polly Woodrowe had turned his well-ordered life inside out in every way imaginable. And in ways he hadn’t imagined—because he’d never imagined wanting a woman like this.
Oh, he’d felt desire before. But he had never acted on it in any way. At all. Not since he’d kissed Daisy Simpkins from the village when they were both sixteen, and he’d only done that because Dominic had dared him.
He’d gone up to Oxford knowing that he was going to take Holy Orders. It was what he’d wanted and he’d willingly accepted all the implications of that. He’d thought that he must be suited to the celibate life, or some such nonsense. He’d even viewed the wall paintings at Pompeii with what could pass for scholarly curiosity.
Now he knew better. It was because he hadn’t known Polly as anything but the guarded heiress promised to Tom Eliot. What was consuming him now didn’t pass as curiosity, let alone scholarly.
He shut his eyes.
Dominic walked in. ‘Ah. There you are. Pippa said you wanted my advice.’
Alex turned away, so Dominic wouldn’t see the colour heating his face. ‘Something I need to tell you first. I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked for Miss Woodrowe to come.’
‘Beyond her family treating her badly?’
‘Yes. Beyond that.’
‘I can see you want to tell me.’ It sounded as though Dominic was trying not to laugh.
Alex swung around. ‘I’m in love with her.’ He hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite like that. He’d had a great many sensible things to say about the advantages of getting married and what a sensible girl Polly was. That he liked her, respected her and thought she would make a good wife.
Dominic’s grin broadened. ‘Congratulations. She’s a charming girl. When is the wedding to be?’
Alex cleared his throat. ‘She hasn’t exactly accepted me yet.’
‘Well, congratulations, anyway,’ said Dominic cheerfully. ‘She seems like an intelligent sort, of course she’ll accept.’ He strolled over to the side table that housed a brandy decanter and poured two glasses. Alex accepted one and took an abnormally large gulp. It burned its way down.
‘So what was the advice you wanted?’ asked Dominic, leaning on the edge of his desk and sipping his brandy. ‘I seem to recall you had to clean up the mess I made proposing to Pippa.’ A reminiscent grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Lord, what
an idiot I was! Don’t tell me you need me to return that favour?’
Alex tugged at his cravat, felt a flush burning over his face. ‘Not exactly. She has got some maggot in her head that she isn’t the right sort of bride for me, but—’ He could deal with that. Time. Love. He had both. And whatever else was bothering her, well, she would tell him about that when she was ready and he would be able to reassure her and that would be that. But what really had him in a panic...
Dominic waited, sipping his brandy, a booted foot swinging idly. ‘Something else bothering you, then?’
That was one way to put it. ‘I’m a virgin,’ he said baldly.
Dominic’s eyes widened and the boot stilled. ‘I take it you aren’t looking to me to rectify that?’
For a moment Alex was speechless. Then— ‘Curse it, Dominic! I’m serious! What if I mess it up?’ His throat closed. ‘Disappoint her? Hurt her?’ There—it was out. The thing that terrified him above all others.
And Dominic was watching him with that dratted odd smile on his face. ‘I didn’t have that to offer Pippa,’ he said quietly. ‘And I felt as though I ought not to touch her, that I wasn’t fit to come to her.’
Alex’s breath escaped. So he did understand, but— ‘Not quite the same. At least you knew what you were doing.’
Slowly Dominic nodded. ‘Yes. But the price of that... I don’t think you really wish there had been some other woman, do you?’
Another—? ‘No.’ The answer was there and out before he’d even thought about it. There was only Polly.
Dominic’s smile deepened. ‘Hmm. Then your problem is no problem at all. All you have to do is love her. All of her. With all of you.’ He sipped his brandy meditatively. ‘A re-reading of the Song of Songs might help. Sometimes I can’t believe they left it in the Bible, and there are always those volumes of yours from Pompeii. However...’
He got up, walked over to one of the bookshelves and reached up, bringing down two volumes. ‘Here. You may find these of some practical use, but really, all you have to do is take your time and love her.’
* * *
A Sprinkling of Christmas Magic Page 9
