While You Were Dreaming

by Celeste Bradley

  JOHN DIDN’T NOTICE that the others had left them alone.

  “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Barton. Is it true that you are Haven’s own vicar?”

  “Not for so very long. This is my first posting as vicar....”

  For all her exquisite and rather intimidating beauty, John found it exceedingly easy to talk to Lady Emmeline. She listened most attentively, with her hands clasped before her and her stunning eyes wide. She gasped and giggled and paled at all the right moments, until John felt more confident and began to expand upon his tale.

  He even told her about his longtime plans for Lady Bernadette and how she had come to visit Haven at his urging only to fall in love with Lord Matthias instead. From her expression, John gathered that Lady Emmeline believed her hostess must be verging on utter madness for making such an error. This was an added balm to John’s recent decision to release his past yearnings. Lady Bernadette was all things favorable, but she was suddenly very clearly not the only possibility for Mr. John Barton, distinguished vicar of Haven.

  At some point, John looked about him to realize that Lady Emmeline’s relations had disappeared, including the abrasive Miss Grey. Only Miss Higgins remained as chaperone, dozing (complete with intentional snoring!) in the chair by the fire.

  Somewhere in the house John heard a clock chime. When he pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket, he was astonished to see that two hours had passed since he’d entered the lady’s sickroom.

  Lady Emmeline made a sweet pout at his departure, but she let him go without protest. From the little line forming between her brows, John guessed that her headache had worsened. He bowed himself out with a promise to check on her again tomorrow. Higgins walked him to the hall door.

  “Milady left a message that you’re to stay in the same room as you were. And that your things are all unpacked and that your mule is eating his lordship out of hay and oats at a rather fantastic pace and milord says don’t you ever feed that blasted animal?” Miss Higgins gave John a conspiratorial wink and shut the door on him.

  John sauntered thoughtfully back to his room, thinking of Lady Emmeline’s astonishing eyes and her slender hand in his. He felt as though something very significant had just happened to him.

  “At last. Haven’t you any thought to poor Emmeline’s condition? What are you thinking, keeping her up late after everything she’s been through?”

  John turned at his own door to see Miss Grey standing in her own doorway with her arms crossed over her bosom and her tawny hair down in a long braid that hung forward over one shoulder. She was, as usual, glaring at him. “Tell me, Vicar Barton, were you born so insensitive or have you been developing your gift for years?”

  John’s slight smile faded and his back stiffened. “I beg your pardon, Miss Grey, but Lady Emmeline asked me to stay and talk.”

  Miss Grey openly rolled her eyes at him. “Lady Emmeline is well trained to say whatever a gentleman might want her to say. If you’d wanted her to cry and flail herself into your arms, she would have discerned that as well and delivered accordingly!”

  John stepped back, appalled at her view of her own entirely inoffensive cousin. “How can you openly accuse her of being so manipulative?”

  The lady had the good grace to flinch from his anger. “I’m not accusing her of being manipulative. I’m accusing you of being susceptible to it. It unfortunately further convinces her that it is the only way she will ever be sought after.” Miss Grey held up her hands. “As if you cared. Forget I said anything. Men are all the same, vicars included. You all want to hear it so badly, you’ll take it any way you can get it.” She narrowed her eyes at him, then stepped forward until she stood close enough for him to detect the meadow-flower scent of her.

  “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she stated flatly, her voice practiced and mechanical. “I’m astonished at your incredible intelligence and devastated by your manly, manly muscles. Please, tell me every mundane detail about yourself because you are endlessly fascinating to me—and I’ll pretend not to notice that you never, ever ask me a single thing about what I like or long for, or heaven knows, what I actually really think about anything.”

  John’s gut twisted at the recognition that it was true. In the last two hours he’d not managed to ask Lady Emmeline anything about herself. Or if he had made a half-hearted effort, she’d waved her hand negligently and turned the conversation back to him. He’d allowed it, so eager had he been to impress her.

  Then Miss Grey’s words, scalding and judgmental as they were, made him smile. “My muscles are manly-manly? Is that better than simply being manly? Am I doubly manly because you said it twice?” When she only stood there, gaping at his unexpected reaction, he impulsively reached out to tug at her braid. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered.

  Her hair filled his hand, soft and warm in his palm. The braid was untidy, full of escaping wisps that twined around his fingertips. John released it slowly, his fingers exhibiting a strange reluctance to let go.

  He bowed shortly. “Goodnight, Miss Grey. Do sleep well.”

  He shut the door on her standing there, her lips still parted in stunned surprise. He’d enjoyed having the last word, something for which he did not normally strive. It would be an unworthy occupation for a vicar, in his thinking. However, Miss Grey seemed a very worthy opponent indeed.

  HIGGINS THE DRIVER was much like his sister, Higgins the lady’s maid. Same button nose, same bright eyes. Burly instead of curvaceous, but other than their figures, they could swap their livery and exchange caps. It might take all day for anyone to notice.

  This notion made Norah smile the next morning as she tapped on the door of the single men’s servant quarters. It opened to reveal an astonished baby-faced under-footman.

  “I have a tray for Mr. Higgins.”

  She did, a proper gentleman’s breakfast of eggs and bacon. At the last moment, Cook had thrown on a small pitcher of milk and a few extra pats of butter for the rolls.

  “It’s good for broken bones,” the arrogant cook had said gruffly. “Miss,” he’d added with a dismissive nod.

  The people in this house! The Grey family retainers were a loyal bunch but had grown casual in their service over the many underpaid years. They had all liked Norah because she did for herself and Emmeline without complaint. It was comfortable and occasionally exasperating but Norah was used to it.

  The under-footman, who she doubted had yet required a razor, tried to take the tray from her. Norah held on grimly even as she smiled unrelentingly.

  To her surprise, he finally took a hesitant step back and bowed her through the door no lady should even wish to knock upon.

  Norah, quite frankly, was weary of everyone in the house and wanted an opportunity to talk to the man who had saved the lives of herself and Emmeline, the man she had helped, the one she’d befriended on the long cold trip from Kewell Abbey.

  Baby Cheeks followed her as she bustled forward through the doorway. She heard him muttering something about “Mr. Jasper” and “skin me, he will!”

  “Which room, please?” Norah’s smile was fixed on “pleasant man management” as she tried very hard not to laugh at the youngster’s quandary.

  Clearly unable to refrain from answering a direct question from a lady, the fellow gulped and nodded at a door. “That one, Miss. But—”

  Too late. Norah had expertly balanced her laden tray on one open palm and tapped on the door.

  “Mr. Higgins? It’s Miss Grey. Might I enter?”

  At the startled affirmation from within, Norah swept into the small attic room like a lady in her own house. It worked every time.

  Higgins was sitting up in bed, quite decently clad in a nightshirt and covered by a coverlet. His shoulder was strapped down tightly with his arm wrapped to his damaged ribs, the bandages showing just above the neck of the shirt.

  “Oh, miss! I don’t—I mean, it’s right fine of you to visit, but�
��no, Brand, you stay!”

  Norah smiled over her shoulder at Baby Face Brand. “Yes, do. There’s an iced bun in it for you if you’ll play chaperone.”

  Young enough to be tempted by the treat and old enough to know the value of a chaperone, Brand took his bun and stood guard just outside the open door. It was a fine idea, for the ceiling slanted fiercely and even Norah had to bend a little.

  She set up Mr. Higgins with his tray and poured tea for them both from the pot beneath its cozy. Mr. Higgins looked pained to eat before her, so Norah tore off a piece of a roll and popped it into her mouth. “Cook says the milk will do you good.”

  “Milk,” Mr. Higgins scoffed. “Like I’m only knee-high!”

  Norah raised an authoritative brow and pointed at the milk. Mr. Higgins, who was a good-natured fellow when not grumpy from pain and enforced bed rest, drank the “blasted milk.”

  Norah settled into the small room’s only chair. She looked about the chamber with a frown. A driver for a wealthy house should have finer quarters than a coffin of a room he couldn’t stand up in.

  Mr. Higgins, who understood Norah quite well after days on the road, just chuckled. “Not to worry, miss. ‘Tis handy to the door for nursing is all. His lordship has given me a fine room with a proper clothes press for my livery and all. I’ll take it once I’m ready for duty.”

  Norah smiled at her friend. “Well, that’s fine then. One less ornery male for me to bully into correct behavior.”

  Mr. Higgins nearly snorted his milk up his nose at the thought of Norah taking on Lord Matthias. Then he shrugged. “Might that you could, miss, being so fearless and all.”

  Norah shook her head. “Not fearless, Mr. Higgins. I simply don’t give a fig what Lord Matthias thinks of me.”

  Eyes wide, Mr. Higgins nodded. “Fearless, miss, and don’t you ever forget it. Do you think I don’t recall you pulling me out from under that shattered nightmare of a carriage, miss? Thought the whole thing were going to fall on me head, I did. Saying me prayers, miss. Only regret I could come up with was ever leaving Haven in the first place.”

  Norah nodded politely. She was happy to change the subject. “I saw it as we drove through. It looks a charming village in truth.”

  Mr. Higgins’s eyes crinkled. “‘Tis pretty enough, but the north be full of pretty places.” He shook his head. “No, Haven is special, miss.”

  “Surely most people think their home is special.” Well, she didn’t but she was merely an occupant of Kewell Abbey. It wasn’t really her home.

  Her home was something else. She had only ever seen it in her mind, recalled by a certain window here, a graceful hearth there. It would be a good house but not a “fine” one. She’d had her fill of gilded poverty, of fine useless things that had to be polished even when the larder was empty.

  If it had been up to her, every gleaming bibelot in the Abbey would have been sold to pay wages, or to put something rather more useful than dahlias in the gardens, or make a proper order from the butcher.

  In the end, Lady Emmeline’s inheritance had saved them just in time—but Norah didn’t believe such a heaven-sent gift was on its way to her.

  She would never have the shining wholesome house she treasured in her most secret dreams, one full of laughing children and cheerful hearth fires—and that one person who would look up and smile every time she walked into the room.

  “—horses, right miss?”

  Norah blinked herself back to the wintry present. “So sorry, Mr. Higgins. I was off gathering wool. What was that?”

  “Never knew there could be two such contrary horses in a pair, I said. One with all the brains, the other with not a one. Nothing but north wind blowing twixt the ears of that foolish lump of meat.”

  Norah smiled wryly. Mr. Higgins had amused her on the journey with his colorful descriptions of “that sorry beast,” and his many flaws. Her favorite was when he’d pulled a big soft ear down to his own and listened theatrically. “Methinks I hear the sea.”

  “Lady Emmeline chose them,” she reminded him now.

  “Aye, they’re a showy pair. Lady Emmeline knows fashion right enough, I’ll wager. I just wish she would’ve taken me horse-trading with her.”

  Norah nodded, wishing she had done many things differently. She wished she had been kinder to the handsome, valiant stranger on the bridge. She wished she had talked some sense into Emmeline.

  She wished she hadn’t come along to Havensbeck at all, not if she’d only come to watch the only man she’d ever fancied fall under Emmeline’s exquisite spell.

  Norah lifted her chin and covered her regret with a smile. “So, Mr. Higgins, what is so special about Haven?”

  “It’s love, miss.”

  Surprised that a tough country fellow like Mr. Higgins would speak so openly about love, Norah straightened. “Ah. You left your girl behind?”

  Mr. Higgins grinned. “Might be. I came home to find her, I did. Hope to meet her very soon. That’s the wonder of it, don’t you see, miss? People come to Haven and they step right into love, every time.”

  A brief sound of disbelief broke from Norah. Or perhaps it was belief, the tragic realization that someone she knew had done just that—except that the love John Barton had stepped into was Emmeline’s, not hers.

  Then sanity returned. “Victor Barton has been here for nigh on two years now.”

  Mr. Higgins only looked triumphant. “Aye, but the vicar was already in love when he arrived, wasn’t he?” He tapped his head. “It was me and my sister what figured it out. The vicar had his heart set, so the magic didn’t work on him, did it?”

  John’s heart had been set on Lady Bernadette. Yes, of course. Now he was open to love again—just in time to catch pale, perfect Emmeline in his arms like an angel, a gift fallen straight from heaven.

  A gift from Haven.

  “So I’ll be meeting my true love any time now. Or as soon as I get out of this blasted—beg your pardon, miss. Out of this fine bed his lordship has provided me while I heal.”

  Norah laughed. “Pray, don’t strain yourself on my account, Mr. Higgins. There’s not much worse than being bedridden.” Unless one has a handsome heroic young vicar kneeling at one’s bedside.

  Thoroughly weary of herself, Norah stood, nearly knocking her head on the ceiling. “Perhaps I shall visit this magical wonder of the village then.”

  Mr. Higgins grinned and tugged on an imaginary cap. “You do that, miss. Go into the village. Magic, it is. Blessed. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 7

  B

  EFORE NORAH TOOK the lane to the village, she walked curiously about the grounds of Havensbeck.

  There wasn’t much to see under the thick, lovely blanket of snow. The world seemed to be asleep—or perhaps it simply waited, only dozing, ready to burst forth at the first hint of spring weather.

  When she came into the cobbled stable-yard, swept clean of snow by the cheerful stable boys, Norah decided to check on the brave horse, the one with the brain. She gave the creature a pat and approved its spacious stall and gleaming coat.

  An eager head thrust itself from the next stall and Norah found herself patting the velvety nose of the brainless horse. Against all odds, he seemed perfectly well and utterly unharmed, unlike his weary and still nervously twitching partner.

  Norah sighed. What a gift it must be to be without thought or regret. Yesterday and the day before had utterly slipped away from this horse’s thoughts. He nibbled at her fingers with soft lips and cast a longing, wistful look from his dark, liquid eye.

  The silly thing thinks I owe him a sugar lump. “I believe I’m the one owed a treat, not you,” she murmured, although she did scratch his empty forehead and smile at the notion of listening for the sea.

  Then again, perhaps it was not an enviable thing, to live unconscious of consequences. To shy away from harmless little whirlwinds of snow, caught by the breeze over the river bridge. Poor silly beast.<
br />
  “Some of us can’t help but shy away from insubstantial things.”

  Like hope. Like love.

  “All right, Mr. Higgins,” she murmured. “Let us see this magical village of yours.

  THERE WAS ONLY one way in and out of Havensbeck. Of course.

  Yet Norah’s gut chilled as she found herself upon the bridge, the scene of so much fear. Her feet stopped moving. She could go back. She didn’t have to cross this scene of near tragedy.

  However, now that Emmeline seemed to be recovering quickly, Norah decided to face that terror and all the regrets that came with it.

  She walked along the deadly stone wall, her fingertips brushing at the few inches of fresh snow that had fallen. There was the place where she had climbed beneath the carriage to help Mr. Higgins. She could see the scrapes and streaks of lacquer on the stone wall where the carriage had dragged along it.

  There, just beyond, was the site of her blackest nightmares. The careening carriage, its path swerving widely as the horses fought for control. The wheels skidding and the carriage sweeping sideways as she and Emmeline were tossed about within it.

  Emmeline falling against the door. The door flying open at the impact. Norah’s desperate grab for Emmeline’s skirts as her cousin began to fall out.

  And the stone wall that had seemed to rush at them as the carriage swung back around.

  Emmeline, just beginning to gain her grip on the doorframe, mere seconds away from the moment Norah might have pulled her back to safety.

  Norah heard again the way the fine lacquered carriage cracked like an egg against the unforgiving stone. The way Norah had been flung forward, hard on her knees.

  She felt again the slip of silk sliding through her fingers. The sight of Emmeline falling backward, her frightened gazed fixed on Norah’s.

  Norah’s hands fisted hard, once again grabbing tight.

  Emmeline’s hands splayed out, pale and weak against the evening sky, reaching for rescue that wasn’t there.