John started at the boyish bellow coming from outside the parlor, but his reaction was nothing compared to Lady Emmeline’s.
She came to life like a doll magically transformed into a real live girl. “Bertie? Bertie!”
A tall, slight man burst into the parlor. He looked as though he’d ridden in the snow for hours, for it crusted on his shoulders and he carried a thick layer on the top of his hat.
Jasper had the day off, John thought inanely. The fellow simply walked in.
Someone had said the word. Hadn’t they? He felt breathless and icy inside. Did it count? Was he engaged to the wrong woman? Had he just lost every chance of true happiness?
“Emmeline!” The desperate fellow threw himself at Lady Emmeline so forcefully that John thought, just an instant too late, that he ought to step between them.
It wouldn’t have worked anyway, for Emmeline was flinging herself at “Bertie” with equal force. “Oh, my angel!”
The two collided in front of the fireplace, knocking chunks of snow from the man’s clothing into the coals to sizzle fiercely there as they practically devoured each other in a passionate kiss.
Matthias stood next to John. “Sorry, Vicar. Foiled again.”
JOHN STOMPED ALONG the lane. He’d searched the snow-covered estate for Norah for half an hour to no avail. If she’d gone into the village, he might still spot her tracks in the fresh snow, though more was coming down.
Then she was there, just ahead of him. She stood on the bridge, not too close to the wall, and gazed out at the frozen river. John halted and took a deep breath of relief.
He’d found her.
Yes. At last, I have found her.
There, in her grey cloak with the snow collecting on its deep hood, stood the most wonderful woman John had ever met.
It was not just physical attraction, although he was attracted. Very.
What he saw in Norah was something he’d been promised in his study of the Book. It was a holy gift. It was a meeting of minds and a shared humor. It came beautifully accompanied by a forthright heart and a bright soul unsullied by superficial concerns.
He considered all the generous, astonishing things he’d seen her do, large and small, recognized and unrecognized.
Oh Miss Norah Grey, your potential is squandered as simply your cousin’s companion. What may I offer you instead? Myself? My children? My flock?
What might your unstinting heart accomplish with an entire village under your wing?
He rather thought she might enjoy finding out. He knew he would.
VICAR BARTON APPROACHED her slowly. Norah didn’t look at him yet. If she didn’t look, he wouldn’t speak. If he didn’t speak, he wouldn’t inform her of his happy news and then she would not have to congratulate him on his good fortune.
Just one minute more, please. One minute, out in the snow again with the man I love.
Before he becomes someone I may only esteem.
“I would think you’d prefer to avoid this spot.”
“Do you know, I think it is now my favorite place in the world.” She heard the wistful sadness revealed in her voice, but she had not the will to lie just yet.
He scuffled to a stop near her. Norah flinched away, turning to walk quickly toward the village. As quickly as she could, at any rate, with the fresh snow risen above her ankles.
Vicar Barton ran to match stride with her. With his hands stuck deep into his pockets and his head down, he made Norah think of a boy who didn’t want to go to school.
“Do you know, the strangest thing just happened.”
Norah didn’t speak. Don’t answer. Just one more minute.
“That Bertie fellow—is he entirely mad, or simply mad about Lady Emmeline?”
Norah stopped short. Of all the things she’d expected...
Blast the man! She had to ask. “What does Lord Bertram have to do with anything?”
“Well, considering that right now Lady Blythe, Lady Bernadette and your mother are all planning the wedding of the century—”
Norah died a little more.
“And Lady Emmeline can’t stop kissing the poor sod long enough for him to come up for air—”
“What?” She whirled on him, her mouth agape.
He was grinning underneath his hat, the arse!
Then he started to laugh. “It’s true! I know, I thought I was about to become engaged as well! But then Lord Bertram Ardmore broke down the door, all covered in snow. I am not, in fact, Lady Emmeline’s ‘angel.’ It was all allegedly very amusing, except I was mostly just baffled.”
He wasn’t going to marry Emmeline. He was free!
And then it struck her. It didn’t matter that he was free, because men like John Barton didn’t fall in love with women like Norah Grey. They fell in love with women like Emmeline.
Only then, she was ashamed to admit, did it occur to Norah that John had suffered a terrible loss. Aching for him, she put a hand on his arm. “So again, the woman you’d meant to marry has fallen in love with someone else?”
“Actually, I think she was always in love with him. It was all quite garbled, you understand, but apparently when she inherited, she was surrounded by new suitors. Bertie had his feelings injured when she began favoring one of them.”
“Oh, Emmeline,” Norah sighed. “It was a tactic,” she explained to John. “She was trying to get Lord Bertram to declare for her by making him jealous.”
“Oh, kick him to the starting line, so to speak?” John nodded thoughtfully. “Well, he went away thinking she didn’t care for him.”
“Ah. And then when he heard of Emmeline’s accident?”
“Oh yes. Rode for days, although he made it sound like weeks, but that would start him in Spain, so I don’t know—”
To her surprise, Norah laughed aloud. John smiled at her.
In fact, he truly smiled at her. Her heart started to pound. She swallowed hard. “So you aren’t engaged to Emmeline, but Lord Bertram is?”
“You might think I would become accustomed to losing out to other gentlemen. It seems to be my fate.”
Norah hesitated. “Are you ... very heartbroken?”
He looked up, down the winding lane and the snow-laden branches lining it. “Actually, my overwhelming reaction was utter and total relief.”
“What? Why?” She suddenly felt contrarily defensive of Emmeline. “What’s so wrong with Emmeline?”
He shrugged. “Oh nothing. Nothing at all. She’s beautiful, charming, good-natured, rich…”
Norah was feeling a little worse at that point.
“However, Lady Emmeline Grey bears one unredeemable flaw. One which I fear I could never tolerate.”
“What is it?” He was going to say Em wasn’t terribly bright. It was somewhat true, but Norah couldn’t bear for anyone to mock sweet Emmeline. She truly couldn’t endure to hear John be so unkind.
He turned to smiled down at her. “She isn’t you.”
What? “No. Don’t mock me like that. Everyone—everyone—prefers Emmeline!”
He shook his head slowly back and forth, his pewter gaze never leaving hers. “Not everyone.”
She couldn’t allow herself to believe it. She backed away, one hand out in protest. “No. You don’t really know me. I’m too—too—bookish! Outspoken! Cynical!”
He caught her hand and followed her retreat. “Too intelligent. Too honest. Too clear-sighted. Too kind.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head wildly, knocking her hood from her head. “I’m not that kind. Not in my mind. I think terrible things about people, about how weak they are, or afraid, or appalling.” I’m the appalling one! “I’m very bad at being good!”
He wrapped her in his arms. “It isn’t unkind to simply comprehend the weakness and flaws in people. It could be used as a gift—one that allows you to help them shore up their cracked foundations and build better character upon them.”
It sounded like an impossible tas
k. “That must be a terrible burden to carry! How do you do it?”
He leaned back to laugh at her. “I was hoping you’d tell me!” He began to draw her closer. “You let Emmeline give the gifts, because someday it might teach her to be more thoughtful. You saw the grief in a boy who I thought was merely nervous. You found a way to teach a blundering bachelor how to keep his secret from his housekeeper and eat his parsnips, too.”
He spoke with such admiration in his voice. About her?
She almost fell under his spell, then she pushed him away. “I’m never going to be an Emmeline. Or a Bernadette. I’m not likely to get any prettier, you know.”
He leaned back and ran appreciative eyes over her face and form. “Heaven forbid! I doubt my heart could stand it!” The flare of heat in his eyes turned them dark and a little hungry.
She shivered. A very nice sort of shiver.
Then it was too late to stop him. He went down on one knee and reached into his coat to his weskit pocket and withdrew something. Norah stared down at his open palm. There lay a dainty gold ring, set with a small pearl.
“I’m an oyster,” she breathed. Somehow, it was better than being compared to a flower, or a gazelle, or a goddess, as men had been wont to do to Emmeline. It wasn’t empty, obvious flattery.
It was a title given by someone who had actually looked inside to see her as she truly was.
“It belonged to my mother’s mother,” he said. “I remember that she loved me very much, though I lost her when I was only a child. I’ve just realized why I’ve been thinking of her so much lately.” He smiled up at her. “I have such fond memories of her laughter.”
Strangely, Norah had begun to believe.
He went on. “I should speak to your uncle first, I suppose, although that always seems rather like a horse deal to me—”
If it was at all possible, she might’ve fallen a little more deeply in love with him at that moment.
“—But I want to ask you and I want to hear your answer—”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a hard question.
He ignored her. “Miss Norah Grey, will you—”
“Yes.”
He pressed his lips together tightly, but she saw the corners twitch anyway. He began again. “Will you do me the great honor of—”
“Y—” His glare of exasperation over his huge grin stopped her. No one had ever looked at her with such—
Clarity.
Understanding.
Love. For her, just as she was, without reservation.
He truly sees me.
Suddenly, she wanted to hear it. She wanted the whole proposal, the entire silly romantic moment, the declaration of his feelings, the question. “Start over.”
He looked up at her with raised brows.
She smiled shyly. “Please? I won’t say a word, a promise. But just in case you’re wondering, I’m going to say—”
“MISS NORAH GREY,” he bellowed. “I love you! I want to marry you! I want to have six or seven little Norahs arguing around the dinner table every evening!”
Oh heavens. That was rather a lot. She didn’t say a word, but she could feel her smile stretch into a grin. Smart outspoken daughters. What fun!
“I want to grow old with you and help you out of your rocker every night and wake up next to you every morning!”
Cheeky sod. I’ll be the one hefting you up, just you wait! Her heart was singing.
“This isn’t going at all well but that’s fine because I think I know your answer.” He took a breath at last and waited, smiling up at her confidently.
She couldn’t resist. “I … may I think about it? Just for a few days. A month, just a few months. You know, I’m sure I’ll come to an answer by summer—”
With a growl he rose to his feet, taking her with him. His strong arms wrapped around her hips… and his hands gripped her bottom. Oh my goodness. Her mind went blank with the fizzing of her senses. “What … what were we talking about?”
He started to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell back into a snow bank, pulling her down on top of him as he roared.
It was likely a bit naughty to want to stay right where she was. Or even to think about wriggling a bit.
Oh, yes. He’d asked her a question. She reached a handful of snow and rubbed it into his face until he choked to a stop.
When he looked up at her with the crystals melting on his thick eyelashes, she melted as well. He and she, melting together, mingling strengths, shoring up weaknesses, filling cracks and pouring endless love back and forth.
The two of them, triumphant. Victorious together. Forever.
“Yes, Vicar John Barton, I will marry you.” She forestalled his kiss with one finger in the air. “I’d like to add an addendum about those six or seven daughters. Would you consider mixing in a few sons?” She smiled down at him as she stroked the snowmelt from his cheek. “Handsome, kindly sons?”
He didn’t reply. He simply wrapped one icy hand around the back of her neck and pulled her head down. Her heart pounding, she allowed it.
His mouth was firm and hot and heavens, he tasted as good as he smelled! The kiss went on and she began to learn, and then he began to moan and Norah breathlessly thought perhaps there was something to be said about this marriage idea, for the kiss was giving her all sorts of interesting notions.
She was surprised they didn’t melt the snow to a river beneath them.
This man. I choose this one, above all others.
The miracle, the magic, the blessing of it all was that the man she’d chosen had chosen her right back!
He was warmth and strength and goodness and she thought that perhaps—just perhaps!—she truly did have a lovely smile, for she felt as if her entire being was smiling, body and soul.
The snow continued to fall upon them, as soft and light as a kiss.
Epilogue
A
NOTHER YEAR, ANOTHER Christmas in Haven. Another pair of blessed lovers—or two!
The snow would fall until spring melted it into sweet water. The woods would turn green again—green and brown, mysterious yet welcoming, just like the kindly eyes of the vicar’s new wife. The river would flow fast and the apple trees would bloom and then drop their blossoms to line the lane with drifts of pink and white, almost like snow.
Farewell, dear reader, until winter returns to Haven, and the true snow falls and Christmastide rises nigh.
And the next desolate heart calls out for love.
All Books by Celeste Bradley
Debut Novel
Fallen
The Liar's Club
The Pretender
The Impostor
The Spy
The Charmer
The Rogue
Wedding Knight
(a Liar's Club novella)
The Royal Four
To Wed A Scandalous Spy
Surrender To A Wicked Spy
One Night With A Spy
Seducing The Spy
The Heiress Brides
Desperately Seeking A Duke
The Duke Next Door
Duke Most Wanted
The Runaway Brides
Devil In My Bed
Rogue In My Arms
Scoundrel In My Dreams
The Wicked Worthingtons
When She Said I Do
And Then Comes Marriage
With This Ring
I Thee Wed
Wedded Bliss
On Bended Knee
The Courtesans
(with Susan Donovan)
Unbound
Breathless
The Haven Holiday Series
Sleepless in Staffordshire
While You Were Dreaming
The Vixens of Vauxhall Series
A Liar Under the Mistletoe
(a Liar's Club holiday novella)
For more information about Celeste’s books,
visit:
CelesteBradley.com
For updates on upcoming books and events
by Celeste Bradley, you can join
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and be the first in the know!
About the Author
Photo © Charles M. Fitch 2014
CELESTE BRADLEY is the New York Times bestselling author of more than 24 Regency historical romances, including the extremely popular Liar's Club spy series and the Wicked Worthingtons. She has twice been nominated for the RITA Award by the Romance Writers of America. Before becoming a writer in 1999, Celeste was an artist who specialized in pottery and ceramic sculpture. Although originally from the South, Celeste now resides in New Mexico. “It is one of the last habitats of the Free Range Human.” She is fond of food that someone else cooks, animals of all sorts, painting, drawing, reading, and grandbabies.
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