“Yes, my Rica. I, Marcel Fournier, accept your proposal with a thankful heart.” Marcel kissed her again to prove it, and it was some time later that Cedrica finally floated upstairs to tell her patroness her news.
Dashing Through the Snow
by Amy Rose Bennett
Miss Kate Woodville, teacher and bluestocking, enjoys her independence, thank you very much. But when a very determined viscount insists she accompany him on a mad dash through the snow to Gretna Green to stop his younger sister, Violet, from eloping with Kate’s own brother, she has little choice but to go. She’ll risk the ruin of her own pristine reputation if it means she can save Freddie from Lord Stanton’s wrath.
As they race along the road north and then back to Hollystone Hall in Buckinghamshire for a New Year’s Eve charity ball, hearts and wills are certain to collide. But will anyone—Freddie and Violet, or Kate and Lord Stanton—find the path to everlasting love?
Chapter 1
Penrose House, Berkeley Square, London
26th August, 1812
“I cannot believe I’m actually going to do this. I must be mad,” Katherine Woodville muttered as she let her friend Tessa Penrose adjust the fall of the seafoam green satin skirt of her borrowed evening gown. “Bluestockings like me do not attend Grand Masquerades at Vauxhall Gardens. Especially not in dresses created by modistes.”
Tessa glanced up and caught her gaze in the looking glass. “I do understand, Kate. Really, I do.” She straightened and tugged at the silver netting over the lightly puffed sleeves. “You know I loathe social functions, too. But there isn’t a reason in the world to stop you having a little fun. And fun is what you are bound to have, dressed the way you are. Just look at you.” Tessa’s dark brown eyes glowed with warmth as she smiled. “You look wonderful, my dear friend. This gown suits you very well indeed. Better than it would suit me. The green matches your eyes perfectly.”
Kate grimaced. “You are too kind. But it’s only because of your generosity that I look presentable at all.” She sighed as her gaze drifted over her reflection. Tessa’s maid had done a brilliant job of arranging her recalcitrant red hair into a style that was more becoming than her usual attempt at a no-nonsense bun. And the shimmering green gown was elegant and unlike anything she’d ever worn in her entire life.
But she couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that she was a twenty-five-year-old school teacher accustomed to a life of genteel poverty, a woman with limited prospects. She knew where she belonged. And it wasn’t dancing in a couture gown at a Grand Masquerade even if it was a public event being held to celebrate the victories of the British army on the Peninsula. Despite her very fine trappings, she would feel like the proverbial fish out of water. If her brother, Freddie, hadn’t practically begged her to go tonight, she’d be tucked up in bed in her little room at Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies with a cup of tea and her latest purchase from Miss Clemens’s Book Palace.
Tessa, thank goodness, had not appeared to notice her heavy sigh as she’d turned away to retrieve the final pieces of her ensemble: a reticule, a matching fan, a pair of white satin gloves, and a lovely silver mask adorned with pale green feathers.
Despite her reluctance to attend the masquerade, tears sprang into Kate’s eyes as she donned the gloves and took the other items from her friend. “Thank you,” she said in a voice that was more than a little choked. “I’m truly grateful for all your help. Even though I am not accustomed to events like this, I don’t want to disappoint Freddie. He deserves to be lauded for his service to king and country considering how badly he was wounded at Badajoz. And he deserves a companion who doesn’t look like a frumpish spinster. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”
Tessa touched her arm. “You are not a frump and could never embarrass him or anyone for that matter, Katherine Woodville. You are a lovely, intelligent young woman. And I predict you are going to have a marvelous time. I want to hear all about it tomorrow. I shall seek you out at the academy after I finish teaching my art class.”
Tessa was a gifted portrait artist, and even though her brother, Christopher, was a viscount, she’d begun to take commissions and even conducted a weekly art tutorial at Mrs. Brooke’s well-to-do school. But, such was her nature, she donated all the proceeds to a cause that was dear to Kate, too—The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel. Indeed, Tessa was the sweetest, most generous soul Kate knew, and she had considered herself blessed to have such a wonderful friend.
Summoning a smile she suspected was quite watery, Kate caught Tessa’s gaze in the mirror and said, “Sharing the details is the least I can do. Now,” she drew a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “I think I’m ready.”
“Good. Let’s rescue Freddie from my brother before he plies him with too much brandy. Christopher can be wicked like that.”
“You forget Freddie was a military officer,” Kate remarked as they departed Tessa’s bedroom and headed for the main stairs leading to the library of Penrose House. “I’m sure he has, on occasion, imbibed brandy for breakfast. He’s probably leading your brother astray.”
“He does have a rather naughty twinkle in his eye, doesn’t he?” observed Tessa.
* * *
Kate felt Freddie squeeze her gloved hand as their hired hackney inched along Kennington Lane toward the main entrance to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d obviously noticed her sharp intake of breath when she’d seen a dark-haired woman in a purple mask almost knocked to the ground by the crush of people on the walkway; thank heavens she’d been caught in time by a tall man in a flowing black cape.
“I will look after you, Katie,” Freddie said with a reassuring smile. “I know you’re nervous about tonight, but I think it will do you good to get out and about.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “You never know, you might meet a very eligible gentleman, so you can resign from that thankless teaching position of yours. God knows we deserve some good fortune considering old Uncle Harold probably won’t fall off his perch any time soon.”
“Freddie!” Kate swatted her brother’s arm with her closed fan. “You must not say things like that. We owe everything we have to him. Our education. Your commission.”
Harold Woodville, Baron Rookhope, was their deceased father’s older brother, and Freddie was next in line for the title.
“True, but I’ve seen enough active service to last a lifetime. I’m glad that I’ve resigned from my commission, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to rusticate in Cumbria with Uncle Harold just yet. And you, my lovely sister, are wasting away at that ladies’ academy. We both deserve better than… well, better than we’ve had before—” He broke off and looked out the window; a muscle ticked in his lean jaw, and Kate knew he was trying to hide his pain, both mental and physical.
Freddie’s regiment, the Second Battalion, Fifty-Second Regiment of Foot, had been sent back to England after the bloody Battle of Badajoz in April. He was reluctant to talk about what had happened, but Kate had heard thousands of soldiers and officers had been killed, and many British troops had engaged in conduct unbecoming after the battle. Even though Lord Wellington had won a decisive victory at Salamanca against the French at the beginning of the month and the tide in the Peninsular War seemed to be turning at long last, Kate was not sorry at all that Freddie wouldn’t be returning to active duty.
“I won’t disagree that you deserve better,” she murmured at length. “How is your shoulder, by the way? I know it still bothers you considerably no matter how much you try to hide it.”
Freddie turned back to her and gave her a rueful smile. “I’ll live. It certainly won’t stop me from dancing this evening. But what about you? Will you dance?” He raised an eyebrow. “You look gorgeous. I’m sure you’ll have any number of noble gentlemen flocking around you, begging you to spare them a crumb of your attention.”
Well played, Freddie. Her brother had become adept at avoiding conversations about his injury. Shrapnel had torn his left shoulder to pieces, a
nd although he’d healed on the surface, he had limited movement in his left arm and ongoing pain and stiffness.
Rather than press the point and cause any disharmony, she decided to follow his lead by changing the subject. “Pish. I doubt that. Besides, why would I want to attract a nobleman’s, or any man’s, attention for that matter? It’s not as if I ever intend to marry. And I certainly wouldn’t marry anyone just because of his position in society or how much wealth he possesses. I like my independence.” She didn’t need to add that she didn’t want to be like their mother, who’d had her head turned by the rakish younger brother of a baron, a man who’d turned out to be a bounder of the worst order and had wasted most of his fortune at the gaming tables. She’d make her own way in life, thank you very much.
“You’re the niece of a baron, and any man would be lucky to have you as a wife, Katherine Woodville,” asserted Freddie with a proud lift of his square jaw.
Kate’s mouth twisted with cynical mirth. “Yes, because a headstrong bluestocking like me is exactly what most men want.”
“You’d be surprised. Not all men wish to wed giggling ninnyhammers or fragile creatures as spiritless as Dresden figurines.”
The carriage drew to a halt, and Kate refrained from making further comment as she and Freddie both donned their masks. She wanted Freddie to enjoy tonight even though she continued to have significant reservations about the masquerade.
Her brother handed her down from the carriage and, after she took his proffered arm, he deftly escorted her through the throng of well-heeled merrymakers on the path. Despite the crush, Kate could smell the dank waters of the Thames on the cool night air. She’d been to Vauxhall years before with Freddie and their mother to see the gardens; perhaps she’d been ten. It had been a spring day—fine but cold as she’d shivered in her threadbare gown, worn slippers, and patched coat—but the sight of the daffodils and bluebells in bloom had warmed her. They hadn’t stayed for the supper or the fireworks or to hear the orchestra play, but Kate still felt a tug deep inside her heart recalling one of the few happy memories from her childhood. Their mother had been happy that day, too.
But there was no time to be maudlin this evening. After their tickets had been checked at the entrance, Freddie swiftly led her down one of the wide elm-lined walkways toward the Grove and the Orchestra Stand. The vibrant strains of a lively country dance could easily be heard over the chatter and laughter all around them.
“You said we had a supper box,” commented Kate as they skirted a group dancing in front of the orchestra. She was uncommonly nervous about the prospect of dancing—she’d hardly ever had the occasion to—and didn’t think she could eat a thing right now.
“Yes, closer to the Supper Room.” Freddie exchanged nods and smiles with a small group of men standing below a nearby, lantern-lit elm tree. “But it is still early, and I thought we might work up an appetite first. There’s sure to be dancing in the Grand Saloon.”
“Promise you won’t abandon me.” Kate grasped Freddie’s arm a little more tightly.
“Of course I won’t, Katie.” Freddie’s smile was warm, but for some reason Kate didn’t quite believe him. Perhaps it was because his gaze kept wandering from one pretty young woman to the next. His smiles weren’t only for her.
Kate sighed. Freddie was an attractive man and looked entirely dashing in his well-cut evening wear; with an athletic physique, a thick tumble of dark auburn hair falling over his brow, and expressive brown eyes that even his white, red, and gold Harlequin mask couldn’t hide, it was no wonder he was receiving any number of feminine smiles in return.
They’d only just entered the Grand Saloon through the open French doors when Kate heard a distinctly excited squeal at her elbow. “Miss Woodville, is that you? Fancy meeting you here. Mama, Anthony, this is the teacher I kept telling you about. My favorite pianoforte teacher.”
Kate turned to find one of her former pupils from Mrs. Brooke’s Academy for Young Ladies beaming at her with undisguised delight. “Miss Lockhart,” she said, easily recognizing her despite the fact the young woman wore an elaborate mauve and silver half-mask. She dropped into a small curtsy. “How lovely to see you again.”
Miss Violet Lockhart, the sister of a viscount, had graduated from the academy late last year. Kate surmised she would have had her come-out and first Season by now. Pretty and flaxen-haired with large, lavender-gray eyes, she’d no doubt caught the attention of many a ton buck. Freddie was certainly casting her his most charming smile. Glancing at the tall, stern-looking yet handsome man beside Violet, Kate wondered if he was her brother or perhaps even a suitor. The fact that he wore a black half-mask and a long, black satin domino cloak wasn’t helping to lessen his forbidding manner. She didn’t have to speculate for long as Violet began to make the required introductions.
Her first impression had been correct; the gentleman was Violet’s brother, Anthony Lockhart, Viscount Stanton. His cool gray gaze wandered over Kate briefly as if he found her of little interest before settling on Freddie. His eyes narrowed as she said, “Lord Stanton, allow me to introduce my brother, Mr. Frederick Woodville.”
Freddie bowed, but Lord Stanton still regarded them both with apparent displeasure. “Woodville. Why do I know that name?”
“Perhaps you’ve made the acquaintance of our uncle, Harold Woodville, Baron Rookhope,” suggested Freddie with a tight smile. “He does visit London on occasion. You know, House of Lords’ business and all that.”
Lord Stanton looked down his long blade of a nose at Freddie. “Yes. I do indeed know.”
“Or perhaps you recall me talking about Miss Woodville,” offered Violet brightly, seemingly oblivious to the strange undercurrent of tension passing between her brother and Freddie. Kate had liked Violet—she recalled her as being studious, sweet-natured, and even-tempered. Her brother seemed to be her complete opposite; dark-haired with a steely glare and an aggressive tilt to his lean jaw, he looked as hard and unyielding as the marble colonnade behind him.
“My brother was recently decorated for his service at Badajoz,” remarked Kate, annoyed at Lord Stanton’s lofty demeanor. The dowager viscountess’s attitude was just as aloof; she was blatantly staring past them all and nodding and smiling at others of her acquaintance. “It was in all the newspapers.” Kate touched Freddie’s arm and smiled up at him. “He’s a Peninsular Cross recipient.”
Freddie’s mask didn’t hide the burst of bright color in his face. “It was only the small Army Gold Medal.”
“A war hero! How marvelous,” exclaimed Violet, her wide gray eyes shining with frank admiration.
Lord Stanton gave Freddie another appraising glance. “You’re not in uniform.”
“No. I recently resigned my commission. My regiment was sent home in April, and I’d been injured.”
Violet placed a gloved hand just above the neckline of her lilac muslin bodice. “You poor thing.”
“He looks well enough to me.” Lord Stanton’s tone was bored, although Kate thought she might have detected a look of grudging respect in his eyes before he turned away. He offered his arm to his sister. “Come, Violet. We should circu—”
“Dance. What a wonderful idea,” interrupted Violet. “I see Mama has wandered off to speak with Lady Salter, and as we all seem to be at a loose end…” Ignoring her brother’s arm and his glower, she smiled at Freddie expectantly.
Freddie bowed most elegantly. “Miss Lockhart. Would you grant me the great honor of a dance?”
Violet inclined her head. “I would be delighted, kind sir,” she replied and took his arm. “I will be back soon,” she called over her shoulder to her brother as Freddie began to steer her through the crowd gathered about the edge of the dance floor.
Kate nearly laughed out loud when she chanced a glance at Lord Stanton’s face. His Lordship was not pleased at the turn of events, judging by the clearly visible scowl furrowing his brow just above his mask and the muscle working in his jaw. She imagined the short bla
ck spikes of his cropped à la Caesar hairstyle were actually bristling like the spines of a disgruntled hedgehog. She hoped Freddie monopolized Miss Violet Lockhart for at least another dance or two. It would serve the pompous Lord Stanton right.
To her astonishment, he suddenly turned his attention to her and bowed. “Miss Woodville,” he grated out between clenched teeth, “would you also care to dance?”
Kate raised an eyebrow. She ought to refuse him—he was obviously only asking her so he could keep an eye on his sister and Freddie—but a wicked part of her thought it might irk him more if she accepted. “How could I resist such a charming invitation? Of course. I would love to, Lord Stanton.”
She took his arm—as hard as forged iron with tension—and accompanied him out onto the floor where a large number of other couples had gathered. Kate looked about but could not see hide nor hair of her brother and Violet. Neither could she see anyone taking up the requisite positions for dancing a quadrille, a cotillion, a reel, or another type of country dance.
Oh, no. Kate’s heart clenched with horror as pairs of men and women drew very close to each other in holds as intimate as a lover’s embrace. The next dance couldn’t possibly be a slow-turning waltz, could it? She’d learned the steps under the tutelage of Mrs. Brooke’s Academy’s ancient dance master, but she’d never danced it with someone as imposing as Lord Stanton. And certainly not in a public place.
Oh, dear Lord, it is a waltz. Before Kate had time to even think about voicing a protest, Lord Stanton had slipped his large hands beneath her elbows. He drew her so close she could smell the spicy notes of his expensive cologne, the starch of his pristine white shirt, even the slightly musky scent of the man himself. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, which had grown fast and shallow. Had Lord Stanton noticed she was trembling?
Holly and Hopeful Hearts Page 51
