THE MISTLETOE MISTAKE OF MISS GRAYSON

SCHOOL OF CHARM: CHRISTMAS NOVELLA

MAGGIE DALLEN

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the Author

1

M iss Madeline Grayson ran her fingers over the letter on her lap, the crinkling of the paper the only other noise in this carriage aside from the clattering of hooves on the snow-covered dirt road.

The silence was pleasant, she decided. Far better than having a companion. She looked out the small window beside her at the snowy landscape rather than the empty space around her, the dark clouds gathering ominously overhead. The atmosphere suited her mood.

It was perfect wallowing weather.

But self-pity was not a trait to be admired, she reminded herself. A great aunt she’d stayed with for a time had told her that. The same great aunt had also liked to say that she’d best mind her manners or she’d find herself on the shelf.

She wished that great aunt were still alive today so she could inform her that all the good manners in the world hadn’t spared her from that fate.

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips despite this irritating sense of melancholy that had been plaguing her for the duration of her journey to her newly married friend Prudence’s house.

On the shelf. Madeline could vividly recall the image that phrase had conjured when she’d been young. She’d imagined a little old lady being perched on the kitchen cupboard beside the flour and the sugar, left there until needed.

A rueful laugh escaped at the thought and her fingers ran over the letter once more. To think, as a child she’d thought that a lady knew the moment she’d been put upon the shelf, as though there was some unofficial ceremony or a secret rite of passage.

She had not realized that becoming a spinster was such a slow, quiet sort of journey. A sudden realization that years had passed since her dearest cousin’s wedding. That months now went by before she received any correspondence from her other long-since-married childhood friends.

The sudden understanding that no one would bat an eyelash if she did not travel with a chaperone.

She eyed the empty seat once more and that melancholia threatened to grow into something more intense and far more pitiful. Closing her eyes, she swallowed down this poisonous sensation that seemed to be eating at her lungs, searing her throat and making her belly churn.

It was just the time of year, that was all. Christmastide had always made her emotional. It was a time to celebrate with family, of which she had little. Her closest family was her second cousin Amelia, who was happily wed and expecting her first child. She and her husband were on their way back to England after an extensive tour of the continent, otherwise she knew she would have been welcome to spend the holiday with them.

As it was, she was headed to Prudence’s new family home. Her husband’s uncle was a marquess and was hosting a small house party to celebrate the holidays. Prudence and her husband Lord Damian had insisted that she join them.

Truth be told, she’d had any number of invitations to choose from so there truly was no valid reason to be feeling so lonely. She could have gone off to Addie’s or Louisa’s or Delilah’s. Each had offered up her new home, but after careful consideration she decided that it was Prudence who perhaps needed her most. Before becoming engaged to Lord Damian, Prudence had seemed just as lonely as Madeline. Her parents had abandoned her with a terrifying great aunt who’d seemed to Madeline like some villain from a gothic horror.

Her gaze fell upon the empty seat across from her. The latest letter from Prudence, addressed to Madeline at the finishing school she’d been running these past two years. The School of Charm had been her home as she’d had the honor of guiding and assisting the four loveliest young ladies of her acquaintance.

Until all at once, each and every one of them had gone and fallen in love. They’d married in a succession just as quickly this fall. Madeline could not have been happier for her charges.

There was that surge of pain again.

She was happy for her charges...yet also sad for herself. Was it possible to be so happy for others while so sad for oneself?

Yes. In this matter, Madeline had quite a bit of experience. In fact, she considered herself an expert on the topic.

The carriage twisted around a turn and Madeline rested a hand against the seat beside her to keep her balance.

It was a good thing she had, because not a minute later the carriage jostled and bounced wildly as they hit a rut then came to such an abrupt halt that Madeline found herself jostled off the seat and only just caught herself as she tumbled to the floor.

A breath hissed out of her in the echoing silence that followed.

The silence only lasted a beat before she heard the driver of the carriage talking—to his horses, no doubt. Then he was pulling open the door and his scruffy face was peering in. “Are you all right, missus?”

“Yes,” she said, taking note of each limb as she straightened. “A little bruised, perhaps, but fine.”

She managed a smile in the face of his obvious concern. His weathered face was wrinkled as he eyed her from head to toe.

“A wheel’s broken, I’m afraid.” He scratched at the back of his neck as he eyed her.

She knew what he saw. A pretty face, or so she was told, and fair blonde hair. The picture of a lady. Habit and good training had her straightening her posture, ever the graceful swan even when sprawled out across the floor of a carriage.

He held out a hand to help her to her seat but her inner mockery continued.

The ever-graceful Miss Grayson. How often had she heard herself described thus by well-intentioned friends? Graceful and charming and...such a shame she never married.

She gave a huff of laughter as she brushed off her skirts, her dress fashionable but modest. She’d been raised as a lady, despite her lack of wealth or connections, and that upbringing showed. Perhaps too well. She was one of those rare breeds that fell somewhere in the middle of society’s standards. Her appearance and demeanor would suggest she was high born, but reality was another matter. She had enough good connections in her distant family that she would not be left destitute, but not so well off that she had much to offer in marriage. No dowry to speak of and little connections to entice prospective husbands.

Those gentlemen she might have been a fit for—vicars and merchants and the like—they tended to look at her as this driver was right now. As though he was not quite certain what to make of her.

The driver erred on the side of good manners. He gave a low bow as though he were addressing royalty. “Will you be all right, ma’am, if I were to run ahead?” He eyed the expanse of snow around them. “The stables ain’t so far off. I can be there and back with help in no time at all. That is...” He gave her an uncomfortable little bow again and she just barely held back a weary sigh. “If you’ll be fine here alone, that is.”

Her smile felt forced, but it came to her lips out of habit. “Of course I will be fine. I have every confidence that you will return swiftly.”

He beamed with pride and gave another sweeping bow before setting out, like a knight heading out to battle. She watched his retreating form with a sigh. So this was her gallant knight.

She wasn’t quite certain whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the thought. Perhaps it was the jolt from her seat, but no matter how she tried to steady herself, she felt as though her world had been upended along with her seat on the carriage.

She placed a hand low on her belly as if that might settle the swelling tide within her, the wave of dissatisfaction that had been plaguing her for days. Nay, weeks.

Oh heavens, perhaps it was years now that she’d been battling this sensation. But it seemed to be growing with each passing second of silence. Without the horses’ hooves and the rattle of the wheels, she was left with nothing but the sound of her heart beating too wildly in her chest as if it were shouting to be freed.

Nonsense.

She tilted her chin down as if she could speak directly to her heart. Utter nonsense. Her heart wasn’t going anywhere, and her emotions were well within her control.

But her heart did not listen to her chiding, racing away from her as more emotions than she could name reared up. That jolt had not just jarred her from her seat, it had loosened something inside of her that she had been tamping down, stuffing into the darkest corners of herself.

She stuck her head out the door and took a deep breath of the crisp air, but not even the winter wind from a rapidly approaching storm could calm her and it did nothing to cool the fire that was threatening to rage out of control.

She drew back inside. No one seemed to be about but that was no reason not to remain calm and placid and...a lady.

But she wasn’t a proper lady, was she? This new bitter voice nagged at her. She wasn’t certain at what point this voice had been born and when it had grown, but she despised it.

She hated it that much more when it spoke sense.

She was not the lady she’d been raised to be. Not one worthy of respect, not one sought after for marriage, not one with any proper hopes for a good future. She was a spinster, and a poor one at that.

Though she’d spent her lifetime amongst young, marriageable ladies of the ton, it was time to admit that her time had come and gone, and if she’d held out any hopes for a miracle...well, those hopes had withered and died over the last few years. She would never have the life she’d dreamt of. She supposed she ought to be grateful that she’d ever been allowed to view the world her friends had moved in, even if she’d always flitted about on the outskirts, never quite belonging.

She would never be the one who danced and flirted and swooned and...fell in love.

She gave her head a shake. No, the latter she could do. It was the other things that were out of her reach now that she was on the shelf. And she was, there was no doubt about it. She might not have gone through a shocking metamorphosis or felt society place her there, but she was on the shelf and that was where she would stay.

Glancing down, her eye was caught by the letter which had ended up on the floor, the fall making it unfold so Prudence’s tidy handwriting could be seen. There was nothing to be upset about as Madeline had long since come to grips with the reality of her situation. The fact that she would never marry was not newsworthy. It was a fact of life that Madeline had started to embrace the day she’d accepted Lady Charmian’s offer to run the finishing school.

She’d known what she was doing. She’d seen the writing on the wall. The very day she’d moved into the School of Charm, she’d accepted the fact that she was destined to be a spinster.

She just wished everyone else would recognize it, that was all. Even from where she sat she could see phrases and fragments, taunting her with their kindness.

...the vicar is quite handsome, they say.

...older, yes, but in fair health. A widower in need of a wife...

Madeline’s gloved hands twisted in her lap as this burning sensation made her skin feel too tight, her chest ache as though it were in a vice.

With a gasp she shoved the door open and stumbled out of the carriage. The dark clouds seemed so low she could touch them. The weight of the world was coming down upon her shoulders as well.

That was what it felt like, at least.

She lifted a hand to her neck as if that would rid her of this sensation that was rising up so quickly it was choking her. Perhaps it was for the best that the carriage broke down before they reached the manor, for there was something in her that wanted to thrash and scream.

The hand at her side still held the letter from Prudence and without quite realizing what she was doing, she gripped it. She clenched it tight until it crinkled into a ball. But then even that wasn’t enough.

Pity, that was what was in that letter. Pity and sympathy for the beloved headmistress, but also something worse than that. Something so much worse.

Hope.

Her dear, kind, lovely friends still had hope. Not just Prudence, but all of the girls from the school, and Amelia, too. Even Lady Charmian, the owner of the school and one of Madeline’s friends—she too was forever speaking to her of one days and maybes and all of the phrases that made Madeline want to scream.

She stared at the crumpled, wadded up ball of paper in her hand, guilt and shame fading quickly beneath that much stronger emotion that she could not yet name. It wasn’t anger—not at her friends—and it went beyond humiliation.

It was the unfairness of it all, the fact that she might have been graced with beauty and intellect and decorum and yet none of that mattered a fig because she had neither the wealth nor connections that mattered most.

For years she’d supported her friends and cheered them on and was truly happy for them when they found a match and moved on to build a family of their own.

That ache in her throat moved to her belly and her heart. Oh, her heart felt like it might rip in two at the thought of the family she could not have.

It wasn’t as though she were so silly that she’d been holding out for love—she’d never once thought to hope for something as romantic as all that. And she hadn’t been so naive as to wish for a title or great wealth.

She would have been happy with a decent gentleman with a modest income. Just so long as he could support her and a child. That was all. But seemingly even that was asking for too much.

She’d had one prospect in her life. One. A handsome young fellow by the name of Mr. Andrews who’d paid her a great deal of attention her first year in London when she’d been a companion to a family friend.

But even kind Mr. Andrews had dropped her flat when a lady with a decent dowry came along.

Something took over inside her and she threw the letter to the ground, stomping on it. All the while telling herself that it wasn’t Prudence’s fault. She loved her friend, and her friend could not have known that this one last effort—inviting a potential suitor—

“I do not wish it,” she muttered as she kicked at the poor piece of shredded parchment. And because it felt so good, she continued to stomp on the letter with its oh-so-kind words of hope that she hated. “I do not want it. I did not ask for their help.” Her breathing was growing ragged as her movements grew more frantic. She tipped her head back until she was facing the storm clouds above, her hands fisted in rage. “I do not want help, do you hear me?”

She had no idea to whom she was speaking, but for the first time that fire in her chest felt relief. It did not ease, but it felt so good to let it out that she closed her eyes and spoke even louder. “I give up. Do you hear me? I give up!”

She was near shouting now, and tears had welled in her eyes. Not of sadness, but of anger. Frustration.

Injustice.

“I don’t want your help.” She had no idea who that was aimed at—her friends, perhaps. “I don’t need help because I’m done. Hope is for fools.” And then, because again...it felt good to scream, she shouted the word at the top of her lungs. “Fools!”

Her lungs might burst from the passion that was ripping through her—anger like she’d never known.

Or at least, like she’d never acknowledged.

Her feet were still moving, kicking at the letter and stomping on the ground as though she could bury her disappointments, her sense of loss for the family she would never have. But more than anything she wanted to dig a deep, dark grave for those lingering hopes that she wished would just die already.

She would kill them herself with her bare hands if she could. And that was why she hated that dratted letter. That was why it had become harder and harder to bear her friends’ well wishes. Their hope taunted the last vestiges of her own and she was done.

“Done, do you hear me?” she roared up at the sky. “I do not need any help because I give up.” She took a deep breath. She might be acting like a lunatic but for the first time in what felt like forever, she actually could draw a deep breath. Her chest felt more expansive, her body less weighted. Letting this anger out had her dizzy with relief, or perhaps it was the calm after a storm.

Her legs began to shake as she threw her head back, tears rolling down her cheeks. She was still not certain who she was pleading with, the apathetic sky, a god she could not see, or perhaps just her well-intentioned friends with their relentless hope. “Just let me be.”

She stared up at the dark cloud above and froze with shock as a voice answered her. “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

2

T  he deep male voice came not from the sky but from behind her, and it was tinged with amusement. “Not until I ensure that you are safe, at least.”

She whipped around on shaky legs, her eyes wide with shock and...horror. She was horrified at the sight before her. Tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome.

Not terrified, though perhaps she ought to have been, running into a stranger on horseback in the middle of...

She looked around her at the thicket of trees to her left and the expansive meadow to her right. Her suspicions were confirmed. She was well and truly in the middle of nowhere.

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.” He slid gracefully off his horse and headed toward her.

Yes, she truly ought to be terrified. Or at the very least nervous. But all she could feel was complete and abject horror and humiliation that a stranger had caught her...

Well, there was no other term for it. Her tantrum. It had been a temper tantrum worthy of a child, and she had been caught raving like a madwoman.

She closed her eyes. This had to be a nightmare. He must be a figment of her imagination. But then his boots crunched against the snow and there was no denying the reality of her predicament.

Oh Lord, please strike me down right here and now so I do not have to face this gentleman.

“Are you alone out here?” His brows drew together and now he was not just handsome. He was intimidatingly so, with his thick dark brows and his stern features, the hint of gray in his side whiskers and the lines near his eyes that crinkled with concern as he drew close. “Has there been an accident?”

She was too busy taking him in to reply at once, her gaze roaming over the dark overcoat that covered most of his clothing and the horse he was riding, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Where did you come from?” she breathed.

His eyes widened slightly, just enough to remind her how rude her question was. But truly, he seemed to have come from nowhere. He nodded behind him. “There is a vicarage just there, beyond the trees.”

Vicarage.

Of course.

He was the vicar that Prudence had such high hopes for. Poor Miss Grayson’s one last chance at marriage. And he’d been the one to find her screaming at the heavens. Oh, it was just too perfect. The final nail in her spinster coffin. Hysteria had her choking on a laugh. “You’re the widower.”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, it had merely...slipped out along with a laugh of disbelief that had her clapping a hand over her mouth as if that could undo the damage she’d already done.

His brows hitched higher and the curve of his lips was rueful. “Is it so obvious?”

Obvious that he was a widower? Not necessarily, although the creases near his eyes, the gray at his temples—it all spoke of a man who had experiences to share, both good and bad. Her mind called up Prudence’s words about the vicar. And he was handsome, as Prudence claimed the vicar to be. Even with that heavy brow and a brooding gaze, he was undeniably handsome.

So yes, it was clear that this man was the handsome vicar she’d heard mention of. How wonderful.

That bitter voice was back in full force.

Of course the one man to come along during her moment of insanity was the widower Prudence hoped to match her with.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” he continued, casting a glance around and taking in the broken wheel and the abandoned driver’s seat. “Your driver will be returning soon, no doubt, but—”

“No!” It was horribly rude to interrupt, but why start behaving properly now? Again with that hysterical lightness, this urge to laugh and weep at once for her own idiocy. Never in her life had she been so humiliated, and now she would be forced to see this kind, absurdly handsome vicar for the entire duration of her stay at the manor.

“Or rather, yes,” she said, more urgently this time. “He will be back and bringing help, so I assure you I do not require assistance.”

His lips twitched with mirth and his eyes danced with laughter, which seemed at odds with the grim visage he presented. “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

With her ranting. With her raving. She clamped her lips shut as she prayed for the earth to open and swallow her whole. “Yes, well. That was not directed at you, but the sentiment remains.”

“You do not require assistance,” he said. “Understood.” He looked around at the admittedly bleak surroundings and looming clouds. “But perhaps you would give me the honor of accompanying you just until your driver arrives.” He raised his hands. “I assure you that while we have not been officially introduced, I am aware of who you are and I have heard much about you.”

“Have you?” It wasn’t so much a question as just...something to say. Of course he had. She had no doubt Prudence had filled the vicar’s head with talk of the pretty not-too-terribly-old headmistress who would be coming to visit.

She just barely held back a sigh. Heaven save her from her matchmaking friends.

“Indeed,” he said. “As I am nearly certain you are aware of my name.”

His hint of amusement, that low voice...

Oh, he was indeed charming. Dreadfully so. Handsome and gallant and that perfect combination of serious and amused. He would be the type of gentleman one could rely on, but one who could laugh at himself as well. With one look she could see just what sort of man he would be.

A good one. A solid one. A steady companion and maybe even a friend to some worthy young lady.

She couldn’t hold back her sigh any longer. Her luck seemed to have gone from bad to abysmal in a heartbeat. Her one last chance at finding a partner and she’d ruined it with a temper tantrum—the very first in her entire life.

It was a struggle to calm herself, to return to the placid calm she’d exuded every day of her life...up until a few minutes ago.

“If you please, sir, perhaps we should wait to be properly introduced before we become any further acquainted.”

Two things happened at once. He smiled—a real, genuine, beautiful smile—and the clouds opened up in a torrent of rain, sleet, and hail.

THIS VICAR KNEW how to take charge of a situation, that much was certain. If this were anyone but a vicar and an acquaintance of Prudence, she might have been concerned with the way in which he manhandled her.

Not that he was rough. Not at all. He was just...thorough.

Crossing the distance between them in three long strides, he shrugged out of his great overcoat and threw it over her shoulders, tugging it together tightly at her chin before leaning down and...

Oh sweet heavens. “What are you doing?”

It came out far more breathless than she liked but, honestly... It was not every day that a man swept her off her feet and picked her up into his arms.

He held her tightly to his chest as though he might keep her warm and safe through sheer will alone. “I cannot let you stay out here in this storm,” he shouted to her over the wind and rain. Hail pierced her skin and made her wince. It also wiped away any protest. Huddling farther into him, she tried not to notice how wonderful he felt.

How warm and strong his embrace, how delicious he smelled—like leather and soap and something so ruggedly masculine it made her dizzy. And then he was lifting her, balancing her atop his steed and seconds later seating himself behind her.

His touch was intimate but not inappropriate...given the circumstances.

The circumstances being that you are a spinster, that bitter voice pointed out.

And as if her spinster state was not detrimental enough, she was now the raving lunatic woman he’d stumbled upon in a storm. She groaned softly, her head still buried in his chest.

Her great aunt and every guardian since had made such a fuss over being proper and pure and demure. But not one of them thought to warn her that if she was not, if ever once she broke down and lost all sense of propriety...she would surely be caught.

She sniffled, uncertain whether she was crying or if sleet had found its way to her cheeks.

It was official. She was a mess. And if there was any doubt about the matter, it was confirmed minutes later when he brought the steed to a stop in front of a large manor whose details she could hardly make out thanks to the storm.

Servants bustled about, helping her down, covering her as best they could as they hurried her inside with tsks of concern and murmurs about how disheveled she’d become.

Her. Disheveled.

Oh, Amelia would laugh herself into tears if she knew.

She didn’t have a chance to turn back and say thank you or steal one last look at her handsome savior’s face before she was inside and face to face with a mirror.

“Oh good heavens, I am a disaster.” She said it to herself but a servant beside her assured her that she’d be right as rain after a nice, warm bath.

Physically, perhaps. But it was not so much the dripping, sagging hair nor even the puffy eyes and red nose that had alarmed her so.

It was the look in her eyes. The crazed look that was still there. It was the glimpse of desperation and anger—all the feelings she’d done so well to hide until today.

Until that man came along.

She closed her eyes briefly as she let them steer her up the stairs to the second floor where her room waited. She barely had a chance to take in the splendor of her surroundings before the bath was drawn and ready for her.

The servant was right. A bath did help tremendously. And by the time Prudence joined her, fussing over her after her great adventure, as Prudence called it, Madeline was nearly starting to feel like herself again. Enough so that she noticed her younger friend’s barely contained excitement as she helped Madeline finish getting ready to join the others.

“It is wonderful to see you so happy, Prudence, dear,” she said with a genuine grin. Despite her earlier tantrum, she meant it with her whole heart and soul.

Prudence paused while rearranging Madeline’s hair pins and the joy written all over her face made Madeline’s own heart ache with happiness...and longing.

“Now I just want you to find the same happiness that I have,” Prudence said gently. “The same happiness Delilah has found and...” Her voice trailed off.

All of them. Each and every one of her students had found love, and none could have been more deserving of it.

But Madeline didn’t need love, just a chance for a family of her own.

There was that hope again. Silly, useless, seeming indefatigable hope.

She set the hairbrush down a little too hard.

“I have a feeling you may find happiness quite soon once you beguile our handsome vicar.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “He will be madly in love the moment he lays eyes on you.”

Madeline tried not to wince. She failed.

“Whatever is the matter?” Prudence asked.

Madeline cleared her throat. “Nothing is the matter,” she lied. “It is only that I believe I have met this vicar you are so eager to acquaint me with.” And he most certainly believes me to be a lunatic.

“You have?” Prudence’s eyes grew wide in surprise. “But how? Where?”

In all the excitement, Madeline’s version of the story of how she’d gotten from the carriage to the manor had been...vague, at best. She might have left out a detail or two, like...who exactly had saved her.

“Earlier,” Madeline said, waving in the general direction of the carriage and her disastrous downfall. “I met a widowed vicar.” That was one way of putting it. “He was the one who—”

“But it could not have been him,” Prudence cut in with a frown. “Mr. Charleston was called away two days ago to care for an ailing relative.” She bit her lip, her expression filled with disappointment. “I was so disappointed to see him go. I do believe you would have found much in common. You both have such good manners. And you’re both so, so...charming.”

Madeline grimaced at the memory of stomping in the snow as she shouted at the top of her lungs. Charming, indeed.

She shook off the thought as she fully realized what Prudence was telling her. “But...” Her brows drew down in confusion. “Pru, if that was not the vicar attending this party, then who was it?”

Prudence shook her head in obvious confusion. “I have not the faintest idea. Mr. Charleston is the only vicar nearby, and the only widower on the grounds is our own Uncle Edward, the Marquess of Ainsley.”

Madeline frowned at her reflection, a sick sense of foreboding churning in her belly.

“There is no way you would have confused our dashing uncle with the vicar,” Prudence continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “He might be an older gentleman, but he is still quite attractive.” She leaned down with a teasing smile. “Not quite as handsome as my Damian, of course, but even so...” She pulled back and started perfecting Madeline’s hair. There was a lady’s maid who’d been assigned to see to her but both women had preferred to have an intimate chat.

And right at this particular moment, Madeline was happier than ever that there was no one else there to see her expression as she replayed that odd first interaction.

He had said he was a vicar...had he not?

“But...” Madeline had to clear her throat as a wave of fear threatened to swallow her whole. “Prudence, you said in your letter that the vicar was quite handsome—”

“Oh indeed,” Prudence said quickly. “He is handsome as well, just...” Prudence’s lips pursed as she sought the right words. “Well, I would not go so far as to say dashing, if you know what I mean. He is quite refined, albeit short of stature...”

Prudence kept talking, but Madeline was only half paying attention, for each new word used to describe the vicar made it abundantly clear that the man who had saved her was not he.

Her lips grew dry and she pressed them together as she took a steadying breath.

“And the marquess,” Madeline said when Prudence had ceased talking about the fair-haired Mr. Charleston with his slim build and his diminutive stature. “You said he is nearly as dashing as your Damian?”

“Oh, yes.” Prudence grinned at her in the mirror. “He has Damian’s dark features, the hair and the eyes. His demeanor is more serious, as a whole, but he can be quite charming when he wishes to be.”

“I see,” Madeline murmured. Her lungs were barely working now as she tried to breathe in and out. In and out. Panic was threatening to strangle her as she digested Prudence’s words.

“He would make some fine lady a wonderful husband, I am certain of it,” Prudence was saying. “But that would require Uncle Edward to marry again.”

“He is a widower.” Madeline said it more to herself than to Prudence, as this was a fact they’d already established. But her mind had called up a moment from her disastrous meltdown, when she’d said as much to her savior. You are the widower.

Is it so obvious?

Her groan went unnoticed as Prudence continued talking. “But Damian still has hope. I told you that Miss Farthington will be joining us, did I not? She and her mother. Her father is a viscount, you know—Lord Bradford.”

“Oh?” Her voice was little more than a breath now as it all became clear. So vividly, horribly clear.

“Mmm.” Prudence fussed with her hair some more, ever the perfectionist. “She is not the most obvious choice, what with her recent scandal.”

“Scandal?” Madeline echoed.

This was enough to set Prudence talking about poor Miss Farthington and her broken engagement which had caused such a stir. She was not quite ruined, but her reputation was tainted by the scandal of it all.

“Poor Miss Farthington,” Madeline managed when there was a pause.

“Indeed. But, Damian still has high hopes that perhaps she will be the one to catch Uncle Edward’s eye. He might be a marquess but he would be the first to overlook the poor girl’s bad fortune.”

“He sounds like...quite an admirable gentleman,” she said quietly. All the while her mind was calling up image after image of the kind, formidable man who’d come to her aid.

“Oh, he certainly is,” Prudence said. “He could have had his pick of ladies after his wife died but he chose to remain unwed, for reasons he’s never properly explained. At least not to Damian.” Prudence paused to flash her a mischievous grin. “It drives Damian mad because he does not wish to be the heir, you see. Poor Uncle Edward is forever trying to escape my husband’s attempts to get him wed. Damian is a frightfully relentless matchmaker.” She laughed and gave a shake of her head. “But we both have high hopes that Miss Farthington will be the one to win his heart.”

Win his heart. That very real memory of the gentleman’s furrowed brow as he considered her now turned to a fantastical one. A vision of that same furrowed brow easing as he smiled. Those dark, laughing eyes filled with tenderness as he tugged her close. As he leaned in even closer, as he—

“Miss Grayson, are you all right?” Prudence asked. “You seem rather flushed.”

“Do I?” Madeline’s murmur came out a bit stifled but as casual as she could manage. Which likely wasn’t all that casual at all considering her chest was doing something odd.

Something painful.

“I’m fine,” she added with a smile. Or rather, she would be fine when this madness passed. And it would. It would have to. “So, you believe this Miss Farthington to be the one, then? The one who will capture the dashing marquess’s heart?”

She aimed for a teasing tone, though she wasn’t quite certain who she was hoping to fool with her carefree demeanor.

She certainly wasn’t fooling herself.

“Mmm, she is quite lovely,” Prudence continued. “And as Uncle Edward is such a kind soul, he would never hold that broken engagement against her. In fact, it would likely work to her advantage.”

“How so?” Madeline asked.

“He wouldn’t be able to resist,” Prudence said with the utmost smugness. “He couldn’t pass up the chance to be some damsel in distress’s very own savior.”

A flash of warm brown eyes, the scent of that overcoat, and the feel of his arms.

She blinked rapidly against the onslaught of memories. If there had been any doubt remaining, it vanished under a wave of resigned horror. And yet she asked... “A white knight, is he?”

“Oh yes.” She shook her head with a rueful smile. “Though he doesn’t dress the part, most of the time. Do you know, I saw him leaving here earlier and told him he looked like a harbinger of doom with his giant black overcoat.”

Madeline attempted to smile in return as Prudence laughed.

So the gentleman who’d saved her had been a marquess. And her friend’s uncle.

All of those were enough to make her stomach twist in horror, but what was more alarming. Indeed, what had her heart twisting just as surely as her stomach was another fact altogether.

The marquess was meant for someone else.

3

Edward Lansing, the Marquess of Ainsley, had never considered himself a particularly religious man. He had little regard for holidays, in general, and was most definitely not a believer in miracles—of the Christmas variety or otherwise.

Until today.

Until her.

“So you have met her then? Miss Farthington?” Damian’s eyes were bright with excitement as he joined Edward before the fire.

Edward had changed out of his wet clothes and was now warming himself with some much needed brandy in his study as they waited for the others to come down and join them in the drawing room.

“Well?” Damian prompted. “What did you think of her?”

Edward shot his nephew a sidelong glare. Some people had marriage-minded mothers to goad them into matrimony and heirs.

Edward had his nephew.

He knew better than to encourage Damian. Usually.

But today... Well, today he was eternally grateful to his nephew for not having given up on his ceaseless matchmaking quest. His heart was still racing at the immensity of it all, that sensation he’d been so sure he’d never experience in his lifetime.

But then he’d caught sight of her railing against the sky, her lovely features twisted in anger and pain and—his heart had gone out to her. Not in the sense that he sympathized with her emotions—or rather, not merely that. He’d honestly felt his heart leaping toward her. As though it were hers and he’d merely been holding it for a while.

He hid his grin behind his snifter.

“Miss Farthington is pretty, is she not?” Damian prodded.

“Indeed.” Pretty? Yes. That was an understatement. Her beauty was undeniable. But it was not her beauty alone that had left him dumbstruck and shattered.

That was what it had felt like. As though some wall around his heart had come crumbling down with one swift blow. Miss Farthington. And to think, he’d asked Damian not to try and play matchmaker again this year, not to invite any prospective future marchionesses. His nephew had gone against his wishes, of course, when he and Pru had invited a marriageable young lady and her mother.

He frowned now at the brandy swirling in his glass. It was a testament to how thoroughly she’d addled his senses that he only now realized who had been missing. “Where was her mother?”

“Pardon me?”

He glanced over at Damian, who was enjoying a drink of his own, without the excuse of having been caught in the rain.

It had all happened so quickly. He’d bundled her into his cloak and helped her atop his stallion, taking them both to the warmth of his home. The servants had whisked her away from him and Prudence had been summoned and he...

Well, he’d forgotten all about the fact that she was supposed to be traveling with her mother in his haste to get her warm and dry.

He couldn’t quite hide a grin at the image she’d made, dripping wet and dazzlingly beautiful. The feel of her in his arms...

He drew in a deep breath and let it out with a happy sigh. He could only hope that he would be able to feel the weight of her in his arms again one day.

And one day very, very soon.

“Her mother? Lady Bradford?” Damian repeated. “She should be here as well. But tell me, how did you meet Miss Farthington?”

But Edward was too busy staring into the fire, an unfamiliar sensation making his lips feel as though there were invisible strings tugging at them. So this was what it felt like to be in love.

Interesting.

He chuckled and shook his head at his own wayward thoughts. Love? Truly? It was an infatuation at best. And yet, this was the most he’d ever felt for a woman in...oh, forever. He’d certainly never felt this way about his first wife, and after her death he’d not thought to ever feel much of anything at all.

He’d certainly never expected this—this light sensation as though a vice had been removed from his chest. This bright sensation as though his eyes had been opened for the first time in years, only to find that the world was more vibrant, more colorful, more beautiful than he’d ever imagined.

He let out a long exhale with a smile he could no longer deny. It was all such silliness, obviously. Just an attraction, an infatuation, and yet...

Was there anything wrong with that? Especially when the lady in question was the young lady who’d been brought here with the understanding, certainly, that this could be a good match.

He set down the near-empty snifter and he and Damian exchanged a look at the sound of movement in the hallway. The others were beginning to assemble. His nephew’s expression altered slightly at the sound of Prudence’s voice passing by—the wayward rake of his youth replaced by a smitten fool.

Edward watched his nephew with more than a little amusement. Now that was a lad who’d lost his head over a woman. Up until this afternoon he’d rather pitied the boy. Admired him for following his heart and happy for him that it had worked out, but he couldn’t deny that he’d also pitied Damian for falling into the trap that ladies called love.

But now...

He headed toward the door, unable to wait another moment to see the charming and vivacious Miss Farthington.

Well, now he supposed he was starting to understand why his nephew had changed so thoroughly, why his priorities had shifted so significantly and a fire of intent had glowed in his eyes.

He felt that same burn now as he headed toward the door. Nothing and no one could come between him and an evening spent wooing the woman he hoped to make his bride.

Possibly. Potentially.

He drew in a deep breath as his lips curved up again of their own volition.

No, definitely.

If he had his way he would make her his wife this very evening. Of course, they ought to get to know each other better first, and every ounce of reason in his brain told him it was impossible to fall in love so quickly, and yet...

And yet, he wanted nothing more than to propose right here and now, just to ensure that he did not miss the opportunity of having her in his life.

It was ridiculous. It was utter romantic nonsense. He grinned outright as they strode down the hall.

But despite all that, it was undeniable.

Damian fell into step beside him. “I told you that Mr. Charleston was called away, did I not?”

Edward nodded, uncertain why the presence of the vicar had been so very anticipated in the first place. There was nothing wrong with Mr. Charleston, it was just that he was...well, boring. There was no other word for it. The man’s sermons had been Edward’s secret means of finding the peace he needed to sleep for years now—though he’d never admit as much to anyone.

Damian seemed to be waiting for a response and Edward tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he said, “’Tis a pity but I’m certain we can make do without him.”

Damian chuckled. “Oh, I am certain you and I will not be so sorry for the lack of Mr. Charleston’s company. But Pru is distraught.”

Edward arched his brows. “I did not realize your wife was so very fond of our vicar.”

Damian grinned, that same boyish silly grin he wore whenever anyone so much as mentioned his new bride. “She is not, that I am aware of, but she had hopes of him being a good match for her friend, Miss Grayson.”

Miss Grayson. The name tickled some part of his memory. He’d heard the name before, several times, but it took him a moment to place it. Ah yes. Miss Grayson, the poor spinster who ran the finishing school Pru had attended these past two years.

“One last hope for the poor lady, hmm?” he asked, not without a good deal of sympathy. From all that Pru had said about this Miss Grayson, he knew quite well that he and his family owed her a good deal. Pru had suffered mightily living with her great aunt on the neighboring estate and he understood that it was Miss Grayson and the friends she’d made at school who’d become her true family.

He and Damian owed Miss Grayson everything for that alone. Damian seemed to be thinking the same. “Miss Grayson is quite the charming lady, I think you’ll find, Uncle. I am sorry for her sake that our vicar is unavailable, but I’ve promised Prudence that you and I would make up for the fact that our party now has uneven numbers, and poor Miss Grayson will not be left out.”

“Of course not,” Edward agreed. “We owe her a good deal.”

“Precisely.” Damian shot him a cunning, sidelong look. “But do not worry, Uncle. I will see that you have time with your fair new friend.”

Edward returned his smirk with a haughty glare that made his nephew laugh. To both of their surprise, he started laughing as well.

Damian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It has been far too long since I’ve seen you looking so happy, Uncle.” They reached the doors to the drawing room and Damian opened the door as he turned back to say, “It is about time.”

Edward huffed in exasperation, but even Damian’s patronizing tone couldn’t dim this new happiness. Who would have thought he’d be getting life lessons from his nephew? But perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was time to live a little. To shake off this gloom that had been plaguing him for years, a melancholy he’d never quite been able to explain.

The doors swung open and then...there she was. Looking even more beautiful, if far more refined. Her head tipped down, her lips pressed together and her hands clasped before her, she looked like an angel as she stood beside the fireplace on the far side of the room.

His eyes could only see her, and it was only years of restraint and good manners that kept him from rushing to her side, pausing instead as Damian gestured toward two other newcomers, a petite brunette with striking features and an older woman who looked to be...her mother.

His stomach seemed to be the first part of him to understand. It sank like a stone. His lungs went next, all the air rushing out of him in a long exhale that felt decidedly like a punch. His mind eventually caught up, but it did not fully register until Damian was saying the words. “And of course, you’ve already become acquainted with Miss Farthington.”

Damian’s eyes twinkled with smug mischief as poor Miss Farthington blinked up at Edward in confusion.

He opened his mouth but only a hesitant sound came out as he tried to figure out how to resolve this situation.

Miss Farthington recovered first. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure.” She and her mother gave a low curtsy and therefore missed Damian’s look of confusion.

“You haven’t?” Damian said.

Edward quickly started talking before Damian could open his mouth and ask more questions, such as ‘then who did you meet, Uncle?’

Who had he saved from the storm?

His gaze was pulled toward the far side of the room, quite of its own accord.

Who indeed?

But of course, the answer was obvious and came to him as Miss Farthington politely answered his questions about their travel with an equally polite response.

If he could only tear his gaze away from the blonde in the corner, the whole interlude would have been most polite indeed. But as it was, he couldn’t force himself to look away, not for long, not even after the error of his ways had become abominably clear.

Miss Grayson. She had to be Miss Grayson—the poor spinster with only the most distant connections to the peerage.

The one meant for the vicar.

His hands clenched at his sides. The boring, tedious, sanctimonious spinster.

Edward’s rage was unwarranted. Illogical.

But try telling that to his heart which was pounding in his chest as though it had just come alive and demanded attention. He was so caught up in these new emotions, this roiling jolt of anger and longing and...mine.

Yes, possessiveness. That was what this sensation was. Though it made no sense and bore no logic, he could not deny that whenever his glance fell on Miss Grayson, that one word was all his mind could muster to explain the very physical reaction he had toward her.

Miss Grayson was his. It was that simple.

He tore his gaze away to find Damian engrossed in tedious small talk with Lady Bradford as Miss Farthington watched him closely.

It was that simple...and also that complicated, he mentally amended.

Miss Farthington shifted closer, shutting out the other two as she addressed him directly. “As it was not I who had the pleasure of making your acquaintance earlier today, I must assume it was some other fortunate young lady.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You’re quite right. My mistake.”

To his surprise, her dark eyes seemed to light with laughter transforming her small pretty features into something more interesting. He was reminded of tales of sprites and fairies from folklore when she leaned in farther. “Or perhaps it was not a mistake at all.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She drew back quickly, the mischievous glint replaced by a more serene amusement. “Nothing at all. It is just that at this time of year, one must believe in miracles, mustn’t one?”

He blinked again and just barely resisted the urge to repeat himself. I beg your pardon?

Really. What on earth was she speaking about?

She raised her voice a little louder so her mother and Damian were once more included. “My lord, have you had the pleasure of meeting Miss Grayson?”

She’d spoken so loudly that Miss Grayson’s head lifted, her eyes widened, and she glanced over with a start. When her gaze met his—

Lightning.

Thunder.

The storm had well since passed, but he might as well have been in the midst of another, right here in this room. Her clear blue eyes were wide and startled before she looked back to Prudence and the moment was over.

But she’d felt it, too. She had to have felt it.

“She is a most charming lady,” Miss Farthington was saying as she stepped closer to his side. He held out an arm to escort her to the other side of the room where Miss Grayson waited. “Don’t you agree, Lord Damian?”

“Oh yes,” Damian said quickly. “Miss Grayson is a dear friend of ours and had been as good as a second mother to my darling wife.”

Edward huffed in irritation. It was not the first time Damian or Prudence had referred to Miss Grayson thus—as though she were some round, plump, ancient maternal figure, so far on the shelf as to be forgotten.

His jaw clenched in irritation on her behalf, though he knew very well that neither his nephew nor his bride meant any harm. No, what bothered him most of all was that he suspected they were merely voicing what she believed.

How did he know? His gaze locked on her and he swore he could feel her resisting the tug of his gaze.

He couldn’t say how he knew, but he sensed it. He saw it in the way she held herself which was all that was graceful and calm—so much so that it seemed resigned. And her lips were curved up just enough so that she looked sweet and soft and lovely...but it did not reach her eyes.

And then there was the shouting and the stomping from earlier. He hadn’t been well able to make out what she was saying, only catching bits and pieces as she muttered to herself and shouted as if she were a warrior.

But he’d heard enough, had felt it so surely on her behalf that he could have sworn he’d experienced the injustice and disappointments himself. And now he had an inkling why.

“Miss Grayson,” Damian said as they reached her and Prudence. “I would like for you to meet our host, my uncle, the Marquess of Ainsley.”

She curtsied, her head dipped low, but she could not quite hide the pink stain that tinged her neck and cheeks.

She was embarrassed. He supposed he could understand that, but it still rankled that she did not meet his gaze when she straightened, that when she returned his greeting, her voice was muted, her smile gone, and that fire in her eyes nowhere to be seen.

This lady before him, the one with her eyes cast low and her very essence subdued and —this was the spinster headmistress he’d heard so much about.

But it was the lively, vivacious, angry, passionate lady he’d seen earlier that he wanted to meet.

That was the woman he wished to wed.

4

M adeline had suffered hours of pure torture, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

A servant was going about the room snuffing out candles for the party game that was about to begin.

The room was nearly dark as a maid and footman prepared the punch bowl atop a table in the middle of the room. Even in the dim lighting, Madeline was keenly aware of his attention. She could feel the marquess’s gaze on her as surely as if he were prodding her with an elbow, but she refused to look up. All evening, and all throughout dinner, she had managed to avoid meeting his gaze, but she felt its pull. She knew he was staring—perhaps, glaring—and she suspected that everyone else noticed as well.

Prudence certainly had. “Are you ever going to tell me why Uncle Edward won’t cease looking at you like that?”

“Like what?” she said.

“Like you’re a riddle he cannot solve.”

“Is he?” she asked as she turned away.

Prudence huffed in irritation, and it was easy to understand why. In general, Madeline did not believe in feigning ignorance to avoid a difficult conversation, but surely this situation constituted an exception.

Prudence was not happy to let the topic lie. Madeline could see it in her pursed lips, and her furrowed brow, and the way she kept glancing back and forth between Madeline and the marquess as though she could puzzle out the mystery of why he wouldn’t stop watching her through sheer will.

“With the marquess it’s often difficult to know,” Prudence said, her voice hesitant. “With that thick brow and the stern features, he might look angry, but I assure you he is not.”

Madeline shot her friend a quick look. Prudence sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone.

Madeline really ought to explain why the marquess would be so horrified at the sight of her, so curious and annoyed and...

She risked a peek and glanced away again quickly.

Well, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking whenever he peered over this way. Prudence was right that he was difficult to read. But Madeline had to assume that whatever it was he was thinking about her...it could not be good.

“Perhaps he’s seen you somewhere before and is trying to place you,” Prudence offered.

Madeline nibbled on her lower lip. He definitely had seen her before, and in rare form at that. But how to tell her beloved former student that she’d temporarily lost her mind and threw a temper tantrum in the snow? How to explain that for the first time in years she’d given in to her emotions, only to have a witness in the form of one of the most powerful men in all of England?

“There can be only one explanation,” Prudence murmured beside her. “I do believe he’s smitten with you, Miss Grayson.”

Her tone was teasing but Madeline tensed. Prudence had gotten it all wrong. He wasn’t intrigued, he was horrified. No doubt wondering how best to kick her out of his house.

“I do hope Miss Farthington won’t be too disappointed,” Prudence added.

Madeline glanced up at her friend at that. “I do not think she has anything to worry about.”

And indeed, she likely did not. From the little she’d spoken with Miss Farthington, the woman seemed like perfection itself. Aside from that whiff of scandal with her broken engagement, Miss Farthington seemed like an enchanting young lady—poised, educated, and kind, if her smile and eyes were enough to go by. And on top of all that, she had the connections and breeding to make her the perfect wife. Miss Farthington would make a fine match for any gentleman.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Damian called out to the group of their friends and limited family who filled the drawing room now that dinner had ended. “Take your places, if you please.”

“I cannot believe we’re playing this game,” Miss Farthington said with a delighted laugh.

Prudence flashed her a smile. “My husband does indeed enjoy his fun.”

“And music, I’ve heard,” Miss Farthington said.

Madeline shot her a quick look but realized quickly that the young lady was not judging Damian for his ambitions to open a conservatory of his own.

“Oh, indeed,” Prudence said. “I hope no one here is too tired from their journey because after games, Damian will undoubtedly insist on everyone singing carols.”

Miss Farthington agreed enthusiastically but Madeline remained quiet. She was starting to think the muscles in her cheeks might crack if she had to keep this calm smile in place much longer.

She was certain she would soon burst into flames if the marquess did not stop staring at her with such intensity. She had no doubt he was curious about her. Maybe even appalled by her. She remembered the expression in his eyes when he’d offered to help her, the way he’d so nimbly and efficiently saved her from the sleet and the snow...

There had been nothing cruel nor callous about him. So perhaps it was not revulsion in his stare, perhaps it was something more like pity.

She was certain that if she returned his gaze she would have her answer.

But she did not dare.

“I am curious,” Miss Farthington said, linking arms with her as they followed the others to the table where the game of snap-dragon had been set up. “Were you acquainted with Lord Ainsley before this gathering?”

Madeline’s throat grew tight. “No, I have not had the honor before today.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not completely.

“Hmm,” the petite brunette hummed. “He seems quite fascinated by you.”

Alarm had Madeline freezing midstep and as they were linked, Miss Farthington paused beside her. “He is not—he does not—that is—”

Oh drat. Her wide-eyed gaze met Miss Farthington’s entertained one and Madeline let out a sigh of exasperation.

What was wrong with her today? She rarely got flustered, and never lost her composure to such an extent that she floundered for words.

She blamed it on the marquess. Even now, in the near dark, as an excited crowd whispered and giggled around them, preparing for a holiday party game, he was still watching her.

She knew because she could feel it.

After taking a deep breath, she faced Miss Farthington and tried again. “I would not say fascinated. No doubt he is curious as to what I am doing here.”

She gave Miss Farthington a rueful smile, but the other woman had cocked her head to the side as she studied her. “No, I do not think that is it.”

Madeline flinched. It seemed her new friend was not to be fooled. But then, Miss Farthington had likely come to this gathering with the sole hope of catching the marquess’s eye, and now, rather than fawn over the lovely, well-connected, and utterly marriable Miss Farthington, he was paying attention to her.

Of course the lady was intrigued.

Madeline huffed. She would have been flattered if she could believe for one second that this attention was of the admiring sort.

“Then what is it, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked. “We are all so curious to know.”

Madeline was saved by Damian’s shout for everyone to hurry along so the game could begin. Prudence sighed in exasperation beside her. But really, now was not the time to explain. Though...even if they were alone and not surrounded by a roomful of guests, she wasn’t certain she knew how to explain. Or if she would.

Prudence might not judge her for losing all sense of dignity, but she could not forgive herself. Why had she had to go and drop her guard like that? She’d exposed herself, just as surely as if she had stripped down to her undergarments right then and there.

She might as well have. Being naked couldn’t have made her embarrassment any worse. No, this humiliation was the most severe she could imagine, and to think...she had an entire fortnight ahead of her until Christmastide was over and she could politely make her way back home.

Prudence hovered beside her as Miss Grayson took her place around the table. Damian had insisted they play snap-dragon, though she suspected not a single person in this room wished to be set aflame.

Of course, the whole point of the game was to avoid such a thing, snatching fruit and other treats from the fiery punch bowl filled with brandy. It was a silly game, and one she would typically avoid.

As her cousin Amelia liked to say, Madeline had all the sense of fun of a corpse. She said it with a teasing grin, of course, but she wasn’t wrong. Madeline was not fun. She was not carefree, and she was certainly not emotional.

Amelia, who’d spent her entire life knowing she would become a duchess, could afford to be frivolous and carefree. She could make decisions based on her heart and she could hold out hope for a match based on love. Or just a match, period.

Madeline had learned at a young age that a charity case did not have that luxury. And a charity case was what she had been, what she still was in a sense. Yes, these days she worked for her keep, if looking after her dear friends could be called work. But when Lady Charmian offered her the job, it was out of pity. Sympathy, at the very least, because she’d understood quite rightly that once Amelia left the country with her new husband, the duke, Madeline would be adrift, dependent on the kindness of distant family to take her in and give her a safe place to stay.

The school had been that place for her for the past two years. It had been home. And now...

Prudence leaned against her gently, laughing as Damian gave the gathered crowd a lesson on how the game was to be played. She smiled at her friend—a genuine smile. She loved Pru, just like she loved all her girls.

But now they were all gone, happily wed, and it was only a matter of time before they had families of their own.

She supposed she would welcome a new round of girls. Start again forming a new family... With young ladies who would undoubtedly leave her.

She hadn’t realized she’d sighed until Prudence and Miss Farthington both turned to her with a questioning look. “Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked, her brows drawn together in concern. “You’ve seemed distracted all evening. I do hope you’re not ill after being caught out in that storm.”

She’d spoken too loudly. Or rather, just loudly enough. Particularly since Damian had ceased speaking, stepping aside to let one of his friends take the first turn at snatching a treat from the fiery bowl of brandy.

A quick glance around showed that Damian was eyeing her from the opposite side of the group with eyes wide with recognition. Miss Farthington was also peering at her closely. But neither of them affected her the way the marquess did. He was standing a few paces away, several partygoers stood between them, but she felt as though they were all alone in the room when her gaze collided with his.

“Miss Grayson?” Prudence said again.

Was she fine? No. No she was not. Her lungs were too small, or her stays were laced too tight. Whatever this was, she could not draw breath properly and her heart raced too quickly. His gaze was locked on hers and she could not look away.

She. Could. Not.

What was wrong with her?

“Miss Grayson—Madeline?” Pru’s voice grew sharp. “Shall I help you to your room or—?”

“No.” She finally found her voice and it came out too sharp, too breathless. “No,” she said again, her gaze still locked with the marquess’s. “I just need some air.”

Only then could she finally tear her gaze away as she hurried toward the hallway and headed right, not knowing and not caring where exactly she was going, just so long as she got away.

Air, she needed air.

Oh, who was she fooling? She needed to leave. There was no way she could stay here for an entire week and suffer the humiliation that burned her alive every time the marquess’s gaze fell on her.

She stopped when she reached the glass-paned doors leading outside, most likely to a garden or a veranda. It would do. It would have to.

She threw open the door and a cold wind whipped past her, cooling her skin and forcing her head to stop spinning. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, a hand over her stomach to steady herself.

“Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” She would know that deep voice anywhere.

She tensed. “Fine. Thank you.”

He did not leave. He stood behind her in the darkened room, quiet and still...but she could feel his presence there. When at last he spoke again, his voice was closer and his tone achingly gentle. “Can I offer you my assistance?”

Again. The word was unspoken but she still hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his last offer to help her. “No. Thank you.”

He was quiet again and she had to fight the urge to turn and face him. To see him. To meet that gaze that had seemed to hold her captive even as it warmed her to her core. When he next spoke, he was by her side. “You’ve been ignoring me all evening.”

Startled, she turned abruptly to face him. “And you have been staring.” The moment the words escaped she clamped her mouth shut to stop them, but she was too late. Rude. She was being horribly rude. She blinked in shock as she looked away. She was never rude. “I’m-I-I apologize. I did not mean to—”

She could hear wry amusement in his voice when he interrupted. “No, do not apologize. You were right. It was rude of me to pay so much attention, especially when it was so clearly unwanted.”

Unwanted. The word seemed to mock her even as she told herself it was the truth. His attention was unwanted. So very unwanted.

He took a step closer and her heart threatened to break or explode or...oh, she knew not what her heart was up to. Her fingers itched to reach for him so she clasped them together instead.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me,” he continued, his voice a low murmur. “It is just that I have never believed in visions until tonight.”

“Pardon me?” She blinked up at him. His eyes. How could anyone concentrate on words when a gentleman was gazing upon them like this...as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

“You see, I met a young woman earlier today,” he started slowly, his voice soft and low as though he were telling a bedtime story.

But even with the gentle tone, she tensed, her heart beating faster at the mention of that incident which they’d both so clearly ignored as they allowed themselves to be introduced as strangers who’d never once met earlier this evening.

“And she was enchanting,” he said.

She drew in a sharp inhale. He was teasing. Surely he was teasing. She swallowed thickly as he shifted closer. This was inappropriate. They were alone, in the dark, and spinster or no she was breaking every rule in existence right now. “I should get back to the others,” she said, her tone so stiff, so calm, so...proper. This was who she was, who she’d always been.

The fact that she had to remind herself of that was terrifying.

He nodded and the disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick. “Yes. Yes, you are right. I’ll escort you back to the others.”

She nodded, and yet she did not move. She could not. His warmth seemed to surround her, his scent enveloped her. Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she managed to form the words she should have said earlier. “I apologize for earlier. I thought I was alone and—”

“Clearly.” The laughter in his voice made her cringe. And when he placed one finger gently under her chin and tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him, she stopped breathing entirely. “You did not let me finish.”

She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, not with his skin touching hers. A spark seemed to be there where they touched, burning her skin more surely than that silly game of snap-dragon ever could.

His gaze roamed over her face greedily, like he was trying to take everything in. “You did not let me finish,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more intensity. “I came upon a lady earlier today and I was enchanted. She was...spectacular.”

The word came out on a sharp breath and she trembled at the heat in his gaze.

This could not be happening. Not to her. Not with this man.

This was not her life.

“She was passionate and alive in a way that spoke to me,” he said. “And I’d hoped to see her tonight.” He dropped his hand and she drew in a deep breath that did nothing to distract from the coolness that now kissed her skin.

His smile was small and wry. “So, you see, I did not mean to frighten you with my attentions. I was merely looking for someone I’d hope to see again.”

“You are teasing me,” she said slowly, warily.

His eyes sparked with laughter, but she did not get the sense that he was laughing at her. “I assure you, I would never.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “I would never risk being the object of your mighty wrath.”

She could feel heat in her cheeks at the memory but the laughter in his eyes was infectious. She found her own lips tugging up despite her embarrassment.

“No, Miss Grayson, I assure you I was not in jest. I would very much like to get to know you.” He drew in a breath, his gaze roaming over her. “The real you, not just the perfect, kind, and demure headmistress I’ve heard so much about.”

The real you. The words seemed to echo inside her. “I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

His eyes widened slightly with surprise—though no one could have been more surprised than she was to hear those words of honesty slip out of her mouth.

And yet, there was understanding in his eyes when he said, “Yes, I know the feeling well.”

Her brows hitched up. For a moment she forgot to be embarrassed. “You? Really? But...but you’re a marquess.”

His lips hitched up even higher. “I assure you, the title is merely a title. A man’s character is not made clear just because he inherits one.”

She tilted her head to the side as she studied that. “I suppose it would be the other way around.” A man’s character would determine what he made of the title.

She pursed her lips. Just as her character had made what she had of the lot she’d been given.

He leaned against the doorframe beside her and the silence that fell between them was thick but not uncomfortable. “I will readily admit, however, that having a title and all that goes with it has afforded me freedoms that others do not have.”

She tilted her chin. It was an understatement, but she was grateful he understood that much. She ought to walk away. It was indecent to be standing here alone in the dark with a gentleman she’d only just met. But her feet refused to move. “Have you figured it out then?” she asked.

She wasn’t even certain herself what she was asking, what sort of reassurance she was looking for. But he nodded slowly. “I thought I had,” he said slowly. “I thought that by the time I passed forty years I surely must have it all sorted out. Who I am, what I want, the future that is in store...”

Her brows came up in question even as she envied him that certainty.

His lips hitched up on one side and the lopsided, wry little smile stole the breath from her lungs. “But then I came upon a lady.”

She blinked rapidly as the words struck. Surely he did not mean...he could not be saying that she had upended his world.

Why not, when he so thoroughly swept the ground out from beneath your feet? She opened her mouth to accuse him of teasing her once more, for that was the only explanation. But before she could, he had shifted, his demeanor changing effortlessly to something more casual and charming. “I should leave you to your fresh air and return to my guests,” he said with a tilt of his chin and a rakish smile that must have had every lady in the ton swooning when he was near.

He lifted her gloved hand and raised it to his lips.

Oh dear.

She held her breath. If he’d affected her so greatly before without this ease and charm, then she was in dire trouble now. “Wait, I—”

He’d started to turn away but paused, his expression alert. “Yes?”

She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for...for not mentioning to anyone the state you found me earlier today.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “It would be an honor for that cherished encounter to be ours alone.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Now you are teasing.”

He grinned. “Yes, but only a little.”

A laugh bubbled up and slipped out before she could stop it.

He made to leave but turned back again. “If it helps...”

She straightened, tensing at the hesitation that flickered over his features as he studied her.

“I think you know precisely who you are. I’m certain that if you were honest with yourself you know what you want.”

She opened her mouth to protest. It wasn’t about what she wanted, it was about what she could have.

But he didn’t give her a chance to reply. “That woman I met earlier today certainly had an idea.”

She bit her lip. “That woman you met earlier, she...she does not exist. Not normally.”

“’Tis a shame,” he murmured. When he next smiled his eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “I truly was hoping to meet her again. Perhaps if I play my cards right I shall draw her out.”

Her lips parted as a thrill trickled through her veins. Excitement mixed with terror and nervous anticipation. Gone was the stately and intimidating marquess who’d been glowering at her all evening and in his place was a veritable rogue.

“Is that a threat?” she managed.

His laughter was low and rumbly as he turned to head back, not speaking until he was closer enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. “It is a challenge.”

5

F or the first time in either of their lives, Edward found himself on the receiving end of a lecture by his nephew. “You could at least try not to be so obvious about it,” Damian was saying with an exasperated sigh.

The early afternoon sunlight had drenched his study in brightness that had them squinting at one another across the desk. At least Edward was still the one seated behind the large oak desk. It would have been a humiliating day indeed if he were being called to task by his nephew whom he’d raised since he was a boy.

“You have a point,” Edward conceded. “I was too obvious in my interest last night.”

“Last night?” Damian’s brows shot up. “What about this morning? The looks you were giving poor Miss Grayson nearly burnt the dining room down.”

He gave a huff of amusement at Damian’s theatrics. “It was not so bad.”

Or perhaps it was. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He’d spent a lifetime being the perfect gentleman, putting the title and his family duty first.

Perhaps that was the first thing that had called to him when he’d first spotted her. The way she was shouting, the way she’d been lashing out—it could have been his own soul crying out for release.

He wished to be selfish, just this once. Was that so wrong? After all, no one would be hurt.

“What about Miss Farthington?” Damian asked.

Edward frowned. Drat. He’d forgotten all about that young lady.

“She came here in the hopes of catching your eye,” Damian pointed out. “Her mother was beside herself this morning when she realized you were not paying her any mind at all.” Damian shook his head in a way that made Edward shift uncomfortably in his seat like a schoolboy. “Fortunately, Miss Grayson had already left the room before Lady Bradford came downstairs or even she would be aware of your intentions. Or rather, your lack of intentions when it comes to her daughter.”

Edward fidgeted. It was one thing to not worry about what his guests might think. It was quite another to rudely hurt a young lady's feelings. “You’re right,” he muttered. “I shall try to be better about paying attention to all of the guests.”

“Particularly those who are in the market for a husband,” Damian said. His expression was bland, but there was mischief in his eyes.

Edward knew very well that his nephew was baiting him, trying to see how serious he was about this newfound interest in Miss Grayson.

Serious, indeed.

But he was not about to tell Damian that. Damian would have no qualms about the fact that Miss Grayson lacked in connections and had likely very little in the way of a dowry. His nephew was so anxious to vacate the role of heir presumptive he’d welcome any lady as his future aunt just so long as it meant there might be another heir to take his place.

An heir. Edward tapped his fingers against the desk. The mere thought of it was unsettling. After so many years of knowing that marriage and children were not for him—despite his nephew’s attempts to convince him otherwise—the thought of having a child had become rather abhorrent. Not because he hated children but because he’d realized long ago that he was not meant for a family.

He’d tried it once. It had not suited. The memories threatened to come back, but he forced them away. Instead, he thought of Miss Grayson’s kind face, of her gentle smile, and of the way her eyes seemed to change color with each passing emotion.

The thought of a child was unsettling...but no longer abhorrent.

He found himself picturing those same pretty, expressive blue eyes in the face of a little girl and had to swallow down a wave of emotion.

No, a child might not be such a bad thing after all.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there staring into the distance with what must have been a stunned expression on his face. After all, it wasn’t every day he realized he might want to be a father, after all.

“Did you hear a word I just said?” Damian asked. Concern and amusement seemed to be warring for supremacy on his nephew’s features.

He cleared his throat. “Er, no. Sorry.”

“I said, Prudence is worried about Miss Grayson. She says she has not been acting like herself.”

Edward’s brows drew up in hope. She felt it too. He knew it. He could not be the only one suffering from this affliction.

“You don’t need to look quite so pleased with yourself.” Damian’s voice was droll as he leaned forward. “My point is, Miss Grayson is Prudence’s dear friend and a guest in this house. We should not wish for her to be made uncomfortable.”

He frowned. “Of course not. I told her last night that she had nothing to be embarrassed about despite our uncommon first encounter.”

Damian nodded in approval and Edward looked away. Of course, he’d also flirted with her outrageously after that and might have made insinuations...

“And our other guests,” Damian continued.

Edward waved a hand. “Yes, yes. I’ll be on my best behavior with that Miss....” He looked up with a question.

“Miss Farthington,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

“Yes. Quite. I’ll be on my best behavior with her, too.”

“Good,” Damian said, clapping his hands on the arms of the chair as he stood. “You can start by being partners with Miss Farthington during the afternoon’s festivities.”

Edward winced at the thought of spending time with a young lady looking to be wed. He was too old for this nonsense.

Most of the time.

He had a vision of crystal blue eyes and battled a grin. Most of the time he was too old for this romantic nonsense. But apparently that did not apply to a certain headmistress.

“Miss Farthington will be expecting you for the mistletoe decorating. You two will be partnered together.”

Edward’s jaw dropped. “Now wait a moment—”

“It will go a long way toward making amends.” Damian turned back to face Edward, his grin mocking and frustratingly knowing. “I must admit, it is awfully diverting.”

“What is?”

“Me lecturing you on good behavior for once.”

Edward sat back and crossed his arms with a harrumph. “I am not the one who needs lessons in decorum.”

“Mmm, perhaps not,” Damian agreed a little too mildly. “But you definitely need help when it comes to courting.”

Edward flinched as though he’d been struck. “I do not.” But even as he said it he realized it was a lie. He’d never attempted to court anyone since his first wife, and that had been...well, a disaster, plain and simple.

He looked to Damian, who was still hovering in the doorway, clearly reveling in this new reversal of roles. “Well then?” he demanded. “What do you suggest?”

Damian grew a little more serious—as serious as Damian could manage. “Let her come to you.”

Edward arched his brows. “Pardon?”

“You are a marquess,” Damian said.

Edward waited for more. When it did not come, he said, “Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

Damian huffed in exasperation. “What I mean is, you are a wealthy gentleman in a position of power. If you are too forthright, you walk a fine line.”

“You cannot honestly be accusing Miss Grayson of being the sort to trap a man—”

“No, most assuredly not,” he said, looking just as horrified by the suggestion as Edward felt. “I am merely saying that the power is so unequal, you would not want to make her feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

Edward grunted his agreement, still miffed at the insinuation. “I would never pressure the lady into anything.”

“Aside from that,” Damian continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Prudence and I both feel she is overwhelmed at the moment. Confused, at the very least. Give her time. Let her get to know you. Let her reveal herself to you.”

Edward stared at his once rakish nephew. “When did you become so wise about women?”

Damian doffed an imaginary cap. “When I fell in love with a complicated lady of my own.”

Edward gave a huff of amusement as Damian left. Complicated, that was definitely the word for Miss Grayson. And Damian was right. She would be his guest for a fortnight. Surely he could be patient, give her the space she needed while also letting her see that he could give her all that she desired if she let him.

“Space,” he muttered. He could manage that.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER, he was attempting to do just that. It was with effort that he kept his gaze and his attention off of Miss Grayson and focused on the lady beside him instead.

Miss Farthington, his partner in the decorating festivities, was bent at such an awkward angle he was sure she would keel over, her pretty features contorted with discomfort.

“Are you certain I cannot be of assistance?” he asked.

She gave him a smile that ended with a wince. “I shall be just fine,” she said. “I merely need a moment to rest this twisted ankle.”

He frowned down at the small woman. “I did not even see you twist it, how did you—?”

“It happened so quickly, you see,” she said, already limping down the stairs to the main hall where they could see some of the others laughing as they decorated.

“Oh wonderful, there you are, Miss Grayson,” Miss Farthington said loudly when they’d reached the others.

She reached out and grasped Miss Grayson by the arm, dragging her over to where Edward still stood. “We would not wish for Lord Ainsley to be left to decorate on his own, now would we? It would hardly be fair.”

Miss Grayson opened her mouth but shut it just as quickly, her questioning gaze moving from Miss Farthington to him.

He shrugged just as Miss Farthington made her excuses, saying she needed to rest her foot. Though he could have sworn she’d said it was her ankle that had been injured.

Miss Grayson’s gaze followed the brunette as she turned away. “She seems remarkably strong for one so small, does she not?”

“Mmm.” He eyed Miss Farthington walking away. “She also seems to have lost her limp rather quickly.”

Miss Grayson clamped her lips together so promptly he knew without a doubt she was trying not to laugh.

He ached to hear that laugh, even if at this particular moment...that laugh was at his expense. It was plain to see that Miss Farthington had been keen to get away from him. Which was...fine, he supposed. Though odd, considering he’d spent the last decade trying to avoid marriage-minded ladies and now had two in his house who were trying their best to steer clear of him.

Perhaps he ought to have been insulted. But as he eyed Miss Farthington, he noticed her smirking, clearly pleased with herself as she looked upon him and Miss Grayson standing side by side. He crossed his arms. “Do you believe it possible that she has made an excuse to leave us alone together?”

Miss Grayson’s cheeks pinkened as she shook her head. “I cannot imagine why.”

He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Perhaps she just does not wish to be alone with me.”

Miss Grayson’s lips pursed as she cast a quick glance around at the others who were gathered in small groups around the main floor. “This is hardly alone.”

“No.” Not nearly as alone as he’d like to be with her. “But perhaps even this was too much time in my nefarious presence.”

“Nefarious?” Her voice was laced with amusement, he was happy to hear.

“Indeed. Why, only this morning my nephew informed me that I have been much too forward with the company.” He tipped his head. “My apologies.”

She shook her head, a smile tugging at those lush lips of hers. “If I am not allowed to apologize for my inappropriate behavior then neither are you.”

His heart shifted in his chest, as if something were settling into place now that he was next to her. “Very well. No more apologies. And I shall strive to behave myself.” Even as he said it, this inexplicable sensation got the best of him. He had no idea what it was about her that made him want to tease and prod and even irritate, if need be. Anything to get that mask to drop, her shields to lower.

Whatever that urge was, it had him adding with a murmur, “Though I shall continue to hope that you cease behaving so properly.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “That challenge again, I take it?”

She seemed calmer today. Less flustered by him and his attention. Was that a good sign or bad? He had no idea. “I see you have given it some thought.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I have done little but give your words thought since we parted.”

Oh yes, his heart felt those words directly. She’d been thinking about him, too. That was heartening. It made him feel slightly less insane for having been consumed with thoughts of the pretty young headmistress for nearly twenty-four hours now.

“And what have you decided?” he asked.

“Was there a decision to be made?” She asked it teasingly, almost...flirtatiously. And he felt the thrill of it from his head to his toes. What if she were to ever let him hold her in his arms? What would it be like to dance with her, to make her laugh until she cried, to hold her hand? He would never survive.

This woman could slay him with a wink, he was sure of it.

“Of course there was a decision,” he said evenly. “It was a challenge and now you must decide whether or not to accept.”

She shot him a sidelong suspicious look as they slowly wound their way up the stairs, the mistletoe in his hands all but forgotten as he kept his gaze on the woman on his dreams.

“And the challenge is to...what, exactly?” she asked.

“To be yourself. To be free. To give in to your temper and your passion and any other emotions you hide away so carefully behind that pristine image of yours.”

She stopped walking to stop and stare at him. “You speak as though you know me so very well.” She caught her lips between her teeth and then let it go. “You do not.”

“But I’d like to, and that is the point.”

She remained silent.

“You are amongst friends,” he said with a broad gesture of his hands. “And besides all that, it is Christmastide. Surely everyone is allowed to let go of their inhibitions at this time of year.”

He could practically hear Damian in his head, chiding him for pushing too hard, for taking too many liberties. And yet, Miss Grayson seemed more curious than alarmed as she tilted her head to the side. “And do you do that? Let go of your inhibitions, I mean?”

“No,” he said with a short laugh. “I very rarely step outside of the parameters that I’ve set many years ago. I almost never veer off course from my goals and my plans and my very boring routine.”

Her eyes danced with laughter at his candor. “But not now.”

“No, not now,” he agreed.

“Because it is Christmastide?” she teased.

He grinned, his gaze on the mistletoe that had been hung nearby. “That is not the reason.”

“And that is because...” She trailed off.

He leaned in. “I met a young lady, you see. She turned my world upside down without even trying.”

Her blush deepened. “I see.”

Did she? He sincerely hoped she understood. Because he, for one, had no idea what had happened. How he’d gone from stoic, noble, and yes, decidedly boring marquess to...this.

A lovesick man.

But there it was. It was that simple. He’d been smitten and the only cure was walking ahead of him with a bundle of mistletoe.

6

M adeline was nearly certain that if the Marquess of Ainsley had entirely lost his wits, she would have heard about it before now.

Surely Prudence would have confided in her and told her what to expect.

Madeline kept her focus on the mistletoe in her hands. “Where shall we begin?”

His voice was a low rumble beside her. “You could start by telling me why you were so upset when I found you yesterday.”

She glanced up at him, holding up the mistletoe. “I meant with the decorations.”

His smile made her belly do a somersault. “I know.”

There was that laugh again. It felt like champagne bubbles in her chest, so unexpected, so foreign, and so...pleasant. She tried to swallow the sensation, to keep her expression calm and placid, her steps even as they continued to wind their way up the wide staircase.

She had no idea where they were going, only that they were heading away from the others.

And that she was the one leading the way.

“May I?” He offered his arm and she took it, her heart racing as though she were running.

“Miss Grayson,” he started.

“Madeline,” she said. “Please, call me Madeline.”

His smile was slow and sweet. “Madeline, then. And I do hope you will call me Edward.”

“All right,” she said, her voice far too breathy for her liking.

What am I doing? Her mind was racing nearly as quickly as her heart. This was lunacy. She should not be encouraging his attentions, not when they could never lead anywhere.

Nowhere good, at least.

Nowhere proper.

No marquess in his right mind would wish to marry a penniless, aging headmistress when he could have his pick. Perhaps she could be considered as a friend or a...a mistress.

She pulled her hand back from his touch as though he’d pricked her with a pin.

He stopped just as they reached the landing. “Are you all right? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just...It is only...” She stopped with her lips still parted, the words refusing to come.

He arched one brow and she could have drowned in those dark eyes if she dared. She tore her gaze away.

She did not dare.

Daring was one word no one would ever use to describe her. But then again, she wasn’t certain how she would describe herself these past two days. She wasn’t herself.

And yet, she felt more like herself than she had in ages.

Oh, this was dreadfully confusing.

“What I wouldn't give to know what thoughts were racing in that mind of yours,” he murmured, so softly it was unclear if he was talking to himself or to her.

She met his gaze and froze. It felt as though her very life depended on this moment. Ridiculous, of course. She knew that. And yet...

His gaze held a challenge—the same challenge he’d spelled out for her so clearly. He wished to know her. The real her.

She wished to know that lady, as well.

“I am afraid you are under the misguided assumption that I might be inclined to be your mistress.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her mouth in horror and terror and also...just a little bit of pride. Had she really just said that aloud?

“My mistress?” he echoed.

She clamped her mouth shut. Yes. Yes, she had said it. And though her cheeks might have been burning and her belly was in full-on revolt over having spoken the brash, brazen truth like that, she could not deny the heady sensation that stole over her as well.

It was relief. Freedom. An unexpected joy at having said the words she’d truly meant to say. At having been bluntly honest.

His laughter was loud and lovely...and not at all unkind. She even found her own lips twitching as if his laughter was infectious.

He turned to face her fully, his eyes so warm she might melt. “Oh, my dear Madeline. Nothing has been further from my mind.”

The urge to laugh died swiftly as his meaning became clear. Was it possible she’d misunderstood his intentions entirely the night before? She had been so sure he was flirting with her. Charming her. But now...

Before she could finish the thought, he’d grasped both her hands in his and tugged her closer with an urgency that was written all over his features. “I wish to court you, Madeline,” he said, his voice gruff. “But I mean to do it properly. I would never treat you with disrespect. Never.”

She had no choice but to believe him. Everything in his demeanor spoke of sincerity. Honesty. He might very well be the most straightforward gentleman she had ever met. He seemed to be waiting for a response, so she nodded quickly. “I believe you.”

He let out a long exhale, his posture relaxing visibly. “Good.”

“But I do not understand it,” she said.

His gaze met hers and held for a long silence. “Don’t you?”

Her breathing grew shaky. She shook her head.

“Funny, I thought you might,” he said. Keeping her hand in his he moved her closer to a window alcove where they might hang the mistletoe. “I thought perhaps you would understand this feeling that after spending decades doing what was expected, what was proper...that now I long to do something for myself.”

The air rushed out of her lungs. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do understand that.”

His smile was knowing, and she was struck with the realization that perhaps he did know her in ways that she did not yet know herself.

“But you are having trouble believing that what I want is you, is that it?”

She blinked rapidly, her lips parting. What I want is you. The words nearly knocked her sideways.

He winced. “Was that too forward? I apolo—”

“No apologies,” she interrupted quickly. “Remember?”

He nodded. “Indeed, I do. Then I take it back. In fact, I shall make a point of shocking you from here on out.”

She choked on a laugh at the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “You are different when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

She tilted her head to the side to consider him. “Teasing, laughing...merry.”

He held up the mistletoe. “’Tis the season, no?”

She laughed, taking the decoration from him to have something to do with her hands, somewhere to look that was not his handsome, appealing face or those frighteningly familiar eyes.

She continued to keep her focus on the task at hand as she summoned the nerve to continue their conversation. “But yes,” she said. “To answer your question before. That is what I have trouble believing.” She dropped her hands to her sides as she turned her head to face him. “You could have anyone. Why me?”

His eyes grew soft with emotion as he reached for her hand. When she stiffened, he arched his brows slightly. “May I?”

She gave a short nod and did not fight his grip when he lifted her hand and placed it on his chest. “Why you?” he repeated. “Because you are in here.” He pressed her hand to his heart and her mouth went dry as she felt it thudding beneath her touch.

The air between them felt thick and heavy when she dragged her gaze up from their joined hands to his searching eyes.

“Do not ask me to explain how or why. Up until yesterday afternoon when I came upon a beautiful young lady in a storm, I would have told you that such magic did not exist.”

She was not breathing. She could not remember how. It was a miracle she was still standing as she wet her lips and leaned in close. “And now?”

“Now I know it exists because nothing has ever felt more real.” One corner of his mouth hitched up. “Believe me, I know how crazy this sounds.”

Crazy, yes. But also...undeniable.

“Do you believe me?” His question was so urgent, his concern so very real. “I know that you have more to risk here. But I am asking you to trust me. That if you let me in, if you allow me to know you, I would move heaven and earth to keep you safe, to make sure that you are never hurt.”

Her inhale was audible in this quiet alcove, the sounds of music and merriment of the others like music from a distant world. “I believe you,” she whispered.

“Then what do you say? Will you give me a chance? Allow me to court you?”

Yes! The word echoed inside her, but she kept her mouth shut. A lifetime of lowered expectations and dashed hopes could not be erased with one magical day. “I am afraid to believe that this is real,” she said slowly. Because he deserved her honesty. So did she.

He nodded. “I can understand that.”

They stood there in silence for countless moments, their gazes locked, their hands entwined over his heart.

He was waiting for her. She knew that. He was patiently waiting for her to face her fears.

The hope.

Hope for love and a family. Hope which had become a terrifying specter, lurking at every turn.

“I am afraid to hope,” she whispered.

The pain and empathy in his eyes was nearly her undoing. “Trust me when I say I understand that most of all.”

“You do?”

He tugged her closer still, his voice so low and so soft. “I was married before, you know that, yes?”

“Yes.”

“It was...not a good marriage.” He breathed out slowly. “It was not a happy one. And after my wife died—God rest her soul—I promised myself that I would never try again. It seemed easier to focus on all that I had been given than hope for things I thought I would never see.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Love,” he said simply. “A family of my own. Around that time Damian’s parents died and I took him in and...we were happy. I was happy having a child to take care of. Someone who needed me. Someone who loved me as I loved him.”

She nodded slowly. “You two are very close.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “But now he is grown and will be starting a new family of his own and I...” He cleared his throat. “Well, I know I am not a young man anymore, but it occurred to me after meeting you that I am not dead yet, either.”

A laugh was startled out of her, easing the seriousness of the moment.

He leaned forward. “And might I add...neither are you.”

She smiled up at him. No, she was not dead. Nor was she so very ancient that all her best days were behind her. And now, staring up at this man with the kindest eyes she’d ever known...

Now she thought perhaps...she feared maybe...she hoped that...

It was possible the best of days were yet to come.

With a deep breath, she pressed her hand against his heart and met his eyes. “Very well, Edward,” she said slowly, pushing past the fear that threatened to choke her. “I accept your challenge.”

He grinned and she did too.

What did it mean to let him close? To let him in?

She wasn’t quite certain.

But she suspected she was about to find out.

7

Sleigh rides. Edward rocked back on his heels as he took in the day’s source of entertainment, organized by his fun-loving nephew and niece-in-law.

“Be careful, Uncle,” Damian said as he joined him on the snowy veranda overlooking the sleighs. “If your smile grows much broader we might start to doubt your mental faculties.”

“Oh, that time has already passed,” Prudence said with a teasing wink as she joined them. “But I suppose you’ll be heartened to hear that at least you are not alone in losing your senses.”

He grinned over at Prudence. “I always knew I liked you best.”

She laughed as Damian pretended to be offended. He itched to ask her for more details, to hear exactly what his lovely Madeline had said or done to make Prudence think that she, too, was losing her wits during this whirlwind courtship.

And a courtship was what it was, even if they were in the midst of a Christmastide celebration and surrounded by family and friends.

“Ah, here they are,” Prudence called out as they were joined by the others. Their numbers had grown over the past few days as Damian’s former schoolmates came to visit, along with their wives.

None of the young couples had children yet, and Edward had never felt more keenly the lack of youthful voices or cheerful enthusiasm.

Perhaps one year soon there would be a child here to share this Chrismastide joy with them, he told himself as Madeline came outside along with the others, Miss Farthington at her side.

The two had become friends over the past few days, and Miss Farthington had become his most staunch ally in his quest to court his lady.

Despite her mother’s clear disappointment, Miss Farthington had continued to do everything in her power to ensure that he and Madeline were together as often as possible.

For that alone, he would have believed her to be his own personal angel. But added to that fact her unceasing loyalty to Madeline... Well, he only wished he had more eligible nephews so he could officially add her to their family.

Madeline’s gaze met his as Prudence and Damian led the way to the sleighs. As there were not enough sleighs for everyone, it was decided that the group would take turns. While some were enjoying sleigh rides, the others would make a game out of collecting holly and boughs for decorations.

Edward cared not what activity he and Madeline were tasked with first, just so long as they did it together.

For days now, they had been enjoying one another’s company, all under the watchful eye of the group. But even with the others around, they’d managed to have private conversations, get to know one another more deeply.

He’d learned all about her past, her relations, her friends. He’d come to understand how a lovely, gracious lady as she had been raised to believe that she could expect little from the world except for its charity. A lesson he’d devoted himself to undoing.

This woman deserved more than the scraps others were willing to hand her. This woman with her kind heart and her sweet smile and her mischievous gaze...she deserved the world.

“Good afternoon, Edward,” she said quietly as she reached his side.

“My lady,” he murmured. He’d been teasing her more and more with the proposal they both knew was coming. He could hardly wait for the opportunity to ask for her hand, to make this growing intimacy between them official. To show the world the gem they had overlooked, to his good fortune.

She blushed as he’d known she would. His heart swelled in response.

He savored every second of this bliss as her head tipped down but her lips curved up. This anticipation was the headiest feeling he had ever known. There was so much good to come.

And all in due time, he reminded himself.

It was decided that the married couples would take the sleighs out first, which worked well for his plan.

For tomorrow was Christmas Day and while he was enjoying every moment of this courtship, he could not wait another day to make her his.

If he had his way, she would wake on Christmas morning as his bride-to-be and, if all went according to plan, she would be on his arm as his wife by the time the next season began.

But first, there were things to discuss. Some topics they had not touched upon. Some things that needed to be said. For his sake, he supposed.

She had not asked him for the details of his previous marriage, but if she wished to hear that story he was prepared to tell her. It wasn’t such a dramatic tale, and one likely commonplace the world over. He would tell her about the ‘good match’ with the young lady his parents had chosen. About how he’d tried to love her. About how she’d loved another.

Perhaps he’d tell her the recurring hell of her every miscarriage, and how her health grew frailer with each passing month when she could not conceive. She’d made it clear that her only wish was to be a mother—and she merely put up with him because he was the one who would provide a child.

But that child never came and her health never recovered and...

Well, it was a bitter day indeed when he’d realized that she’d grown to despise him for it all. She’d blamed him. And while it had never been true love for him...he’d tried. He’d wanted to love her. But she hadn’t wanted his love.

As they set off in the direction Prudence had pointed out to find their decorations, Miss Farthington and her mother fell back, talking amongst themselves as he and Madeline spoke quietly, discussing everything from the history of the property to the holiday traditions she’d enjoyed with her cousin Amelia.

“She sounds like a dear friend,” he said as they stopped beside a tree that provided a shelter of sorts from the cold breeze and gave some privacy from the others as they spoke.

“The very best,” Madeline said, her eyes soft with affection.

“Madeline, I—” He reached for her hands, more nervous than he expected. “I wanted to find a moment alone today because...because I wish for you to know. To understand...”

Her brows arched high.

He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d missed my opportunity at finding this.” He tugged her closer and her eyes grew beautifully dazed as she allowed it, her body brushing up against his as she leaned in close. “I thought I’d missed my chance at love.”

Her lips parted on a gasp that made his heart clench with a joy so painful it hurt.

“I was married once, you know that...”

She nodded encouragingly.

“But it was not a happy marriage, and I want you to know why.” He drew in a deep breath and told her everything. The whole sordid tale that he’d kept buried somewhere deep.

Somewhere dark and cold where it had festered and tainted his view of the future, of what he might have.

“Do not misunderstand me,” he said as she squeezed his hands, her eyes bright with unshed tears as he finished his all-too common tale of a loveless marriage and the bitterness that had come from it. “I had more than enough love in my life these past fifteen years or so with Damian at my side. I couldn’t have loved any child more, but...”

“But you still wish for a family of your own,” she said quietly. With so much understanding.

“I do,” he said simply. “But the thing is...what I really wanted to say was...I did not know that until I found you.”

Her eyes widened and filled with an aching tenderness that no doubt matched his own. “I did not know that I could feel this way, that I could be open to wanting more, to feeling more...” He gave his head a shake. “I just needed you to know how indebted I am to you.”

She choked on a laugh, her eyes brimming with unshed tears now as she squeezed his hands tightly. “Then you and I are even. For I will be forever in your debt for showing me what it is to live without fear, without constraints.”

He arched his brows high, amusement and joy making it hard to breathe. “I did all that?”

“You did.” She nodded, laughing softly as she did. “I’m still learning,” she said slowly. “I’m still trying to sort out how to be brave when all my life I’ve been taught to be safe.”

He nodded in understanding. “Take all the time you need, my dear. I want you to be comfortable. I wish to make you happy.” He smiled down at her with all the love in his heart. “I wish to give you everything you’ve ever wanted and more.”

“Well...” Her voice was breathless, and he watched with a surge of tenderness as those tears brimming her eyes spilled over. “What is a lady supposed to say to that?”

He chuckled as he swiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You need not say anything.”

“Good, because I had something else in mind anyway.” Her sparkling eyes danced with laughter and his heart thudded loudly in response. He let go of her hands when she tugged on them, even though he hated to let her out of his embrace.

She stuck her hands in the deep pockets of the cloak she wore and he could not look away as she teased her lower lip with her teeth, clearly nervous, but for what reason he could not say.

When at last she found what she was looking for, she looked up. “You, Edward, have taught me what it means to hope.”

His heart nearly stopped working with that pronouncement. He had done that? He was so humbled by the praise he forgot how to speak.

“More than that, you have helped me to remember who I am, or at least, who I was beneath the facade I’d learned to wear so well all these years.” She drew in a deep breath and wet her lips. “You’ve reminded me what it is to be passionate, to have feelings and to express them. And more than that, you’ve reminded me what it is to be brave.”

“Madeline,” he breathed, moved beyond words.

She silenced him with a shake of her head. And then there was a mischievous glint again. A gleam in her eyes that made his whole body feel light, as though he could soar. “And so,” she continued slowly. “I have decided it was time to accept your challenge.”

He arched a brow, a laugh already brewing at her teasing tone. “Oh yes?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer until her cloak brushed against his overcoat. “You wished for me to be myself, to embrace what I wanted and to take it. To be brave.”

She held out the item she’d brought along with her. A sprig of mistletoe.

That laughter escaped now as he saw what she meant to do.

Going up high on tiptoe, she held the mistletoe above them. “You asked me what I truly want?” She smiled tremulously. “This is it.”

He moved before she could, closing the distance between them and claiming her lips with his own. He groaned upon the contact as she melted against him, into his arms.

The feel of her skin against his was better than any fantasy, any dream. Her lips against his were soft and lush and...perfection.

She was perfect. Not because she was so graceful or demure or beautiful...

No. His arms tightened about her waist as he deepened the kiss.

She was perfect because she was Madeline.

His Madeline.

8

She’d done it.

Madeline was still breathless with delight and disbelief when they returned from the woods and discovered that Prudence had hot cocoa waiting, and that their turn for a sleigh ride was at hand.

As the others warmed their hands by the fire, waiting for the sleighs to be readied again, Madeline found Miss Farthington seated on a settee with her foot elevated.

Madeline considered the appendage with pursed lips to hide her amusement as Lady Bradford was sitting nearby. “I thought your ankle had healed.”

Miss Farthington’s answering smile was unrepentant as she patted the seat beside. “Sit. Tell me everything. If I am to miss out on all the fun, I at least want to hear all the romantic details.”

Madeline shook her head with a laugh as she joined her new friend. “You do not have to do this, you know.”

Miss Farthington glanced meaningfully at her mother. “Believe me when I say that I do. Physically removing myself from the equation is the only way to ensure that you and our estimable host have any privacy.”

Madeline tilted her head to the side. “But I thought you sat out today’s excitement because you’re coming down with an illness.”

“Yes, but you see, my mother did not believe a few sniffles were reason enough to miss out on a sleigh ride with a marquess.”

“I see.” Madeline eyed her friend who’d gone to such great lengths to ensure that Madeline got her happy ending even though it meant a sacrifice to her own chances for happiness. As if she could read her mind, Miss Farthington shook her head. “Oh no. Do not look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Miss Farthington arched her eyes, and Madeline sighed. Drat. Her friend was right. She’d been dangerously close to pity there. And if anyone knew how awful it was to be pitied it was she.

“You are right,” she said, patting her friend’s knee. “But I do hope you know how grateful I am. How grateful we both are.”

Miss Farthington gave an unladylike snort of amusement. “For what? All it took was one look at the marquess on that first day for it to be ridiculously clear that he was smitten.”

Madeline’s cheeks burned but she couldn’t hide a smile.

“I had no desire to take away his attentions out of some sort of...pity.” Her nose crinkled with the word and Madeline could only nod in understanding.

“Besides,” Miss Farthington said with a cheerful tone. “I am still young and beautiful—”

Madeline laughed at her teasingly haughty tone.

“There is a chance I will find a husband yet.”

“Of course you will,” Madeline said quickly. And she would, of that she had no doubt. The scandal of a broken engagement would fade, in time.

“To be completely honest,” Miss Farthington said, her eyes clouding with emotions that were so at odds with her typical cheerful demeanor. “I am not certain I am quite ready to try my hand at another romance.”

Madeline reached for her hand. “Was your engagement so very awful then?”

“Yes and no,” Miss Farthington said cryptically. “The real trouble is that when it ended, everyone believed I should be horrified. Distraught, at the very least.”

“But?” Madeline prompted.

Miss Farthington shot her a sidelong look to see her reaction. “But I was quite honestly relieved.”

Madeline wrapped an arm around Miss Farthington’s shoulders. “Then I am glad it is behind you.”

The other girl sighed. “The only problem now is...I know not what to do with myself. My mother has her plans, of course, and my brother is so disappointed in me for failing at my one and only duty of marrying well and...” She faded off. “Miss Grayson, might I ask a favor?”

“Of course!” Madeline turned slightly to face Miss Farthington. “Anything.”

“If this holiday ends the way I think it will,” Miss Farthington said with a coy smile. “I suspect there will be an opening for a headmistress at your School of Charm.”

Madeline bit her lip to hold back a squeal of excitement that was most definitely unbecoming of a lady, never mind a woman of her age. Her mind caught up with what the other woman was suggesting and her eyes widened with shock and then delight. “Would you wish for the position then?”

Miss Farthington’s gaze flickered to her mother who was watching them like a hawk. “It would not go over well, I dare say. But right at this particular moment, I would very much wish to have some amount of freedom. Some independence until I can decide where I shall go from here.” She looked to Madeline. “Do you think me crazy?”

Madeline shook her head quickly. “No, of course not. I think the school would be a wonderful place for you to do just that. And I think the school would be lucky to have you.”

Miss Farthington grinned. “Thank you, Miss Grayson.”

Madeline squeezed her shoulders. “You know that it is I who should be thanking you. Even the marquess has been referring to you as our very own Christmas guardian angel these past few days.”

They both burst out laughing at that, and Miss Farthington wiped away a tear of mirth. “Oh dear. An angel? If only my brother and mother could hear that.”

Edward approached with an indulgent smile. “I hate to interrupt, ladies, but I’ve been told they are ready for us.” He held out a hand to Madeline. “Shall we?”

As Madeline took his hand, her heart leapt with excitement as it seemed wont to do every time he was near. “Let us go for a sleigh ride.”

While the landscape was still covered in snow, and the air even more frigid than the day she’d arrived, Madeline could not help but notice that in every other respect the day was the exact opposite.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and her heart...

Well, she was not at all the same woman who’d arrived.

Her frustration and her anger felt like a distant memory, and she was so filled with contentment and peace when the marquess steered the sleigh to a turn in the road, she nearly missed the fact that this was it.

The place where they’d first met.

He brought them to a stop in what had once felt like the middle of nowhere but what she now knew was her home.

This place. This man. These lands.

This was her home.

It had only taken a carriage accident and a Christmastide miracle to find it.

“Madeline,” he said, as he helped her from her seat so they were standing precisely where they’d stood so few days ago...and yet it felt like another lifetime.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Day,” he said.

Her smile trembled with emotion as he held her hands tightly, the beloved creases near his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her.

“It seemed only fitting that I bring you here, where our journey first began,” he continued. “For I am hopeful that you will agree to begin a new journey with me. To be by my side, forever and always.”

Her heart...her heart nearly shattered with the full force of her joy. Tears streamed down her face as she went up on tiptoe, his arms coming around her.

“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” he asked.

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course.”

His lips crushed hers in a kiss that seemed to seal the words. It was an unspoken promise, a precursor to the vows to come.

When he finally pulled back and held her tightly in his arms, she could only sigh and say the words that had been trying to be free for days now. Maybe from the very first moment they’d met. “I love you, Edward.”

He brushed his nose against hers. “And I love you, Madeline. And thank you...” He held one of her hands to his heart. “Thank you for giving me the best Christmas present anyone could ever ask for.”

“Hope,” she whispered.

He smiled as he leaned down for another kiss. “And true love.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! Be sure to check out Maggie Dallen’s new Bluestocking Battalion series, starting with Miss Minerva’s Militia.

PLUS, get a FREE sweet regency romance novella now when you sign up for Maggie Dallen’s monthly historical romance newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/dgUNif

IF YOU MISSED Addie and Tolston’s story, you can find it in The Misadventures of Miss Adelaide.

Louisa and Tumberland’s tale can be found in The Misunderstanding of Miss Louisa.

Delilah’s story can be found in The Miseducation of Miss Delilah.

And Prudence’s story can be found in The Misgivings About Miss Prudence

FOR MORE SWEET REGENCY ROMANCE, check out Maggie Dallen’s latest series, A Wallflower’s Wish.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MAGGIE DALLEN IS a big city girl living in Montana. She writes romantic comedies in a range of genres including young adult, historical, contemporary, and fantasy. An unapologetic addict of all things romance, she loves to connect with fellow avid readers. Subscribe to her historical newsletter at http://eepurl.com/dgUNif or her contemporary newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bFEVsL

LINKS & OTHER WORKS

Facebook: facebook.com/MaggieDallenAuthor

Twitter: twitter.com/Mag_Dallen

Website: maggiedallen.com