While You Were Dreaming

by Celeste Bradley

  “Fear not then, said the Angel

  Let nothing you affright...”

  AFTER THE PERFORMANCE, Norah watched as Emmeline handed out the little packets of sweets to the brave choral singers. Emmeline knelt right down and congratulated each child in the line, dazzling them one by one. She was so sweet with them that Norah couldn’t help but smile.

  “You purchased the sweets. Were they not your gift to the children?”

  Vicar Barton’s deep voice rumbled through Norah and she had to stiffen her knees against a strange tendency to weaken. Without taking her eyes from the choir, Norah answered.

  “Yes. But see how delighted Em is? It doesn’t matter who gives the gift, does it? The children are happy. Emmeline is happy. I am quite content to make them all happy.”

  He did not respond but she felt him move closer until his heat warmed the bare skin of her arm. “Again you let Lady Emmeline bask in the attention that you rightfully deserve as well.”

  “Deserve? What do I deserve, when I am a lodger in my uncle’s house at no cost to me? The pennies that bought them came from Emmeline’s inheritance, given to me as spending money for the journey. Truly, I do not care if it is Emmeline who is thanked and not I. I did not buy the sweets to garner thanks. I only wished to surprise the children and reward them for their effort. See, they are surprised and rewarded. My wish has been granted.” The sensation of warmth grew until the back of her neck felt flushed and fevered.

  She wanted to step away from him and his disturbing heat. She wanted to lean into him and be burned to a cinder. Thus conflicted, she remained right where she was, although her thoughts grew less coherent by the moment. She was a tumult of fire and light, ice and darkness, tossed between possible and impossible futures, golden dreams and grim despair.

  He is not for me. I cannot have him.

  She heard him exhale and felt the warmth of his breath on the side of her neck and across the tops of her breasts.

  “Do you never think of yourself, Norah?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I am not so virtuous as that, Vicar Barton.” She gently rejected his familiar use of her name. “I am as full of bitter unpleasantness as anyone. More perhaps, for I am cursed with a good mind and an excellent imagination. That gives me expansive means to come up with new and exciting ways to be disagreeable, I assure you.”

  She’d been entirely serious, so no one was more startled than she when he threw back his head and laughed aloud, helplessly and long.

  Norah didn’t even notice that Emmeline had rejoined her.

  ACROSS THE BALLROOM, Bernadette and Simon stood in the reception line with Matthias to greet all their guests one by one.

  Simon looked up at John’s laugh, then elbowed his sister. “Bernie, did you ever hear John laugh like that? Ever?”

  “For pity’s sake, Simon, you should eat more. Your elbows are like fireplace pokers!” She paused to look over at John, who stood with Miss Grey, and yes, Lady Emmeline. “He’s always been such a serious fellow. Even I never made him laugh like that.”

  Simon shook his head. “Never ever.” He smiled. The second half of his Christmas plan was coming along nicely. He’d saved Christmas by waking the sleeping princess with the promise of Haven’s magic. Now he would deliver on that promise with John Barton on a silver platter.

  John would never have to drink his own bad tea again.

  “DID YOU SEE their little faces shine? Aren’t they adorable?” Lady Emmeline seemed so ecstatic over the reception given the sweets that John didn’t have the heart to resent her for stealing Miss Grey’s thunder. Miss Grey seemed quite correct that Lady Emmeline meant no harm by it and was all eagerness to share her plenty.

  Her timing, however, could be better. John had just caught his breath when Lady Emmeline popped up at his elbow. He’d not had time to ask Miss Grey for the first waltz.

  “Oh listen! The quartet is playing a waltz!” Lady Emmeline turned a melting gaze upon John.

  There was no help for it. Miss Grey was already moving away, seeming terribly interested in the refreshment tables. John repressed a sigh and smiled down at Lady Emmeline. “My lady, dare I beg a dance?”

  Of course, she was a perfect dancer. Knowing what Miss Grey had described to him, John pictured hours of ferocious training by a dancing master who had found a naturally graceful pupil. He certainly knew all about that situation.

  He endeavored to live up to his own master’s teachings and soon they were sweeping grandly about the floor whilst the other dancers stood back to watch. It was enjoyable to dance a proper waltz again. He’d always felt constrained by his station, for it would not do to mislead some fervent village miss when he held such a position of responsibility in the community. Country dances were fine, in square or lines of dancers. The waltz, however, was for couples.

  Oh no. Lady Emmeline was doing it again, shining her large, mesmerizing eyes at him and focusing every fiber of her being at convincing him that he was the man of her dreams.

  He felt like pulling a face, or making a joke, or intentionally stepping on her toes, anything to break the hunting-cat intensity of her gaze. It felt—insincere, if he dared think such a thing of a respectable lady.

  When in doubt, John usually reverted to honesty. “Lady Emmeline, I am feeling rather uncomfortable. Would you mind not looking at me in that way?”

  She blinked in surprise and the pressure eased. “In what way, Vicar Barton?”

  He could pretend to have been mistaken. He could change the subject, talk about the village, or compliment her gown. Instead, he followed an impulse inspired by Miss Grey. “You don’t need to do that, my lady. You are a stunning beauty and a gracious, sweet-natured lady. Every man you meet likely already thinks you are irresistible. There’s no need to ... ahem ... cast a spell.”

  To his surprise, she made no pretense of not knowing of what he spoke. “Truly? You don’t think I need to fascinate you with my eyes?”

  John barked a small, relieved laugh. “You truly don’t, trust me. Your eyes are exceptionally fascinating, all on their own.”

  “All right then.”

  For some moments, they merely danced. John was just beginning to regain his earlier enjoyment when she spoke again. “What of my opinions? Do you believe I must conceal my true opinions for fear that men will be put off?”

  John was beginning to recognize Miss Grey’s subversive ideas had clearly taken root behind Lady Emmeline’s pretense of demure feminine submission. He felt it was the least he could do to support that influence.

  “My lady, no man with any character could possibly object to a refined lady’s considered and thoughtful opinions.” He thought of his mother, a faded shadow of his father. “Or even her ill-considered and spontaneous opinions, for that matter. After all, men do not restrain theirs, among their equals.”

  She seemed lost in thought for a moment as they continued to whirl in perfect graceful unison. The music ended and they came smoothly to a stop.

  Then, she tilted her head and gave him a mischievous, gamine’s smile. It was breathtaking, actually. Far more riveting than all her other practiced expressions.

  “Then, Vicar Barton, I am of the opinion that we should keep dancing.”

  He smiled and bowed. “Then this rousing country dance is all yours, my lady.”

  Chapter 16

  E

  MMELINE AND VICAR Barton were dancing again. Emmeline seemed to float in a bubble of delight and the vicar looked well pleased with himself.

  Norah tried very hard not to die from the ache behind her breastbone. John would be so very good to Emmeline. Norah would never have to worry that her sweet, heedless cousin would ever be repressed or abused. John would look after Emmeline. His kindly nature would support her and his sensible attitudes would keep her safe.

  No cruel governess would dare trespass on John Barton’s watch, that was for certain!

  Norah searched her soul for gratit
ude. Emmeline had not died. Emmeline had found an excellent match, one that would both please her father and also ensure that she would be cherished forever and always.

  It was all she’d ever wanted for Emmeline.

  She closed her eyes. “I am grateful. I am grateful.”

  “Of course you are, Miss Grey! We all are! ‘Tis a wondrous evening, is it not?”

  Norah opened her eyes to find Mr. Jasper before her, his eyes bright and his cheeks a smidge more flushed than they ought to be. Mr. Jasper had been at Mrs. Vicar’s “fortifying” sherry, she would wager. And if she was not mistaken, that was a sprig of mistletoe he wore pinned to his lapel.

  Cheeky fellow! She had to smile back at his sozzled grin. “It is indeed a splendid party, Mr. Jasper.”

  “Yet you are not dancing, Miss Grey. You must dance. If you do not, I shall put pepper in your biscuits. I have it on good authority that it is a most persuasive means of ... um.” He blinked hard at her for a moment. “Of persuasion! Come, won’t you dance?”

  Norah looked up to see that the dance forming was a quick-stepping formation of hooked elbows and ducking beneath arched arms. It seemed familiar enough to her. Further, she was heartily sick of her own doldrums.

  She packed a bit of cotton wool around her cracked heart and put it carefully away for later consideration, preferably at a time when she was not standing in the middle of a grand, giddy Christmas celebration.

  Ducking a quick curtsy, she beamed at Mr. Jasper. “Why thank you, sir! I should love to take a turn about the floor!”

  It was a familiar dance, but committed at a break-neck speed. She was gasping and laughing by the end. Suddenly, young Mr. Tanner, the footman, was at her elbow. Behind him, she saw several local fellows who had been headed her way now grimacing in apparent disappointment that Mr. Tanner had beaten them to her side.

  Goodness. They want to dance ... with me?

  At the Society balls she’d attended with Emmeline, the few times she’d been asked to dance was when some enterprising suitor had pressed Norah to advance his pursuit of Lady Emmeline.

  It was an interesting sensation, being sought after. It was likely due more to her adventure on the bridge than her actual appeal, but at least the admiration was sincere. Furthermore, she was certain her hair had never looked so good.

  It is amusing to overdo once in a while, don’t you find?

  “Why yes, Mr. Tanner. I should very much like to dance!”

  JOHN WATCHED NORAH dancing with Billy Tanner.

  Lady Emmeline had been snatched away for a dance by Lord Matthias and then by Lord Bester, so John had ducked off for a bit of cake and a glass of champagne. That the refreshment table had an excellent view of the dance floor was mere coincidence.

  Though Norah seemed more mature of the two, John realized suddenly that she and Billy Tanner were of an age.

  In the beautiful gown that brought out the color of her eyes, with her artistically tumbled hair looking quite stylish, not to mention the accentuation of assets naturally bequeathed by nature, John thought Norah looked very ... um, delightful. Surely he shouldn’t be surprised that other young men thought so too.

  It was her smile, he decided. She was smiling. A lot. In fact, she was smiling at every dewy, baby-faced fellow who asked her gallop about the floor with them.

  The only person she had not smiled at all evening—and he had kept count!—was him, her friend, Vicar John Barton of Haven in Staffordshire!

  John plunked his plate of untasted cake down onto a table and tossed back his full flute of champagne. He might have earned a smile yet, but by gum, he meant to win one!

  THE PREVIOUS SET ended with cherub-cheeked Mr. Brand spinning Norah from the circle dance until she couldn’t stand. She found herself leaning dizzily on the young man’s arm, laughing at him as he playfully smirked at her.

  “Aye, yer a fine dancer, miss! Would ye—”

  “I believe the lady would like to catch her breath.”

  Norah looked up to see Vicar Barton smiling benignly down at her. His expression when he turned to Mr. Brand was somewhat less benevolent. Brand’s carefree smile faded.

  “Hello, Vicar. Er ... Happy Christmas?”

  “Mr. Brand, I think your mother would send you to the kitchens for something substantial to eat. And perhaps a bit of strong tea.”

  Brand blinked. “Did I overstep, sir?”

  Vicar Barton smiled with a few too many teeth. “Not yet.”

  Norah had caught her breath by then, but Brand had already disappeared in a wave of the vicar’s judgmental hand. Norah rolled her eyes. “That was entirely unnecessary. Mr. Brand is a just a child.”

  The vicar took her elbow and steered her to the edge of the floor, out of the way of the next couples. “Mr. Brand is old enough to drink champagne and dance with young ladies, Miss Grey. Did you have very much champagne?”

  That startled her. She straightened and turned on him with snapping eyes. “I haven’t had a drop, sir!”

  He tilted his head at her. “You are having a very good time, Miss Grey. Perhaps I misspoke, but I have never seen you so ... so abandoned.”

  “Ah, I see. You believe that I am neglecting my chaperoning duties! With my mother and my great-aunt in the ballroom? Why shouldn’t I? I am as young and unwed as Emmeline, you recall. Perhaps someone should be chaperoning me!”

  He gazed down at her for a long moment. “I have further offended you, Miss Grey. I wish I knew what I am doing wrong that you cannot abide me. Again.”

  He bobbed a curt bow and began to turn away. Then he turned back. “No. I came to you to try to comprehend. I mean to understand.” He held out his hand. “Will you grant me this dance, Miss Grey?”

  It was so directly a scene from her deepest dreams that Norah put her hand in his before she absorbed the fact that the quartet had begun another waltz tune. White-hot shock moved through her as he took her into his arms.

  She knew she was a good dancer. Emmeline had trained with a professional and Norah had been her practice partner. Other than a tendency to forget the lady’s part and try to lead, she was every bit as good a dancer as Emmeline, if a tad less elegant in form.

  Just once. Just this one dance with him. A single, perfect heart-breaking moment to carry with her into her misty, uncertain future.

  He swept her into the dance and she lifted her chin and waltzed with the man she loved.

  “I love you. I know you love Emmeline, but I love you with everything I am. I just wanted you to know.”

  Of course, she didn’t say the words aloud.

  DANCING WITH NORAH was different than dancing with Emmeline. The waltz with Lady Emmeline had been a display, a performance by two carefully trained show ponies, a matched pair of check-reined carriage horses, sculpted and curried by two sets of parents to bring honor to their families and continue the line, breeding like to like. John had enjoyed the excellence of the dance itself, but he knew perfectly well that it had meant nothing special to either of them.

  Dancing with Norah made him aware.

  Of her. Of himself. Of the pounding of his own pulse.

  The other dancers faded away. Even the music was only a distant guide to their steps. He felt everything, the warm velvet of her gown against his wrist, the sweep of her skirts as they clung to his legs when he spun her. The lightness in her step when she spun back into his arms. She moved with a sensual depth that light-footed Emmeline had not. Her body fitted close to his with a sense of familiarity. The scent of her teased at his senses to remind him of vanilla and cinnamon and sweet, woodland air.

  He wanted the tune to go on longer, but it ended all too soon. His fingers wanted to cling to hers when he released her hand and stepped back to bow. She curtsied, just as expected, but when she straightened, her gaze locked with his for a long, fraught moment.

  He froze, gazing down deep into a secret forest, complicated and mysterious, shadowed with dusk.

&n
bsp; Then she was gone, slipping away between the new couples advancing onto the floor.

  John felt as though someone had kicked him in the belly. What he had seen, what she had allowed him to see, whether she meant to or not—

  God help me. Norah had feelings for him. Strong feelings.

  Oh no. It was a mistake, a terrible error. It was something that should never have happened.

  He’d been careless, so thoughtless. In his loneliness, he’d longed for a friend. When he’d met caustic, clever Norah Grey, he’d begun to seek out her company, simply for the unusual opportunity to clash wits with an equal mind.

  Yet that dark, seething look of longing she’d let him see? And something else, as well. He’d perceived a deep and terrible injury in her dark eyes and he had the alarming feeling that he’d dealt her that wound.

  He’d been so unfair to her. So selfish to pursue their friendship simply to ease his own isolation. There was practically an entire year at seminary school devoted to the dire consequences of accidentally encouraging familiar behavior with female parishioners, for heaven’s sake!

  He should stop if Norah was becoming confused. He would stop, at once. God, yes, he’d stop! She’d been right to treat him distantly and he would respect that. He would do the same.

  I don’t want to stop.

  Being lonely was no excuse. His own needs didn’t matter. His primary concern should be to help Miss Norah Grey by keeping his distance.

  But I really, truly don’t want to stop. I don’t want to be with her less. I want to be with her more.

  I want to be with her all the time.

  That realization shook him to the core.

  “OH, NOTTIE!” EMMELINE wailed. “Oh my head!”

  Norah took her limp, overtired cousin into her arms like she would comfort a child. “I know, pet. I know. It’s been a lovely night, but it’s time for you to rest somewhere dark and quiet, isn’t it?”