With that, she moved and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before walking out of the room. A tear tracked down her face as she realized she would not win her Prince Charming. Her Christmas wish would not be granted. He did not love her. If he did, he would chase after her, begging her to reconsider, but he was letting her go with no complaint.
Blade poured another brandy and noted his hands shook. Harriet was right. Long ago, he’d had his heart ripped to shreds. He’d been young and cocksure of himself. He was a wealthy duke, good looking and very popular. He thought he could have any woman he wanted. Like every young buck that season, he’d wanted the belle of the Ton, Lady Abigail.
He courted her, showered her with gifts, and to his surprise he fell head over heels in love with her. He was ready at only two and twenty to make her his duchess. Then he’d overheard a conversation.
“You’ve certainly sharpened Blade’s blade.” A gaggle of giggles filled the air. “He’s panting after you like a well-trained puppy. I never thought I’d see the day. He’ll propose to you, I’m sure, and I’ll lose our wager.”
“I told you I could have my pick of gentlemen and there was no way I’d waste my time on anyone other than a duke. Her Grace has a lovely sound to it.” Abigail’s voice sounded full of pride and Blade’s smile faded. He knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he could not move away.
One quiet voice spoke up. “Not only a duke, he’s wealthy and oh, so handsome. Laying back and thinking of England will not be a chore if rumors are to be believed.”
More giggling.
“I will do my duty, but I’m hoping he’ll take many mistresses. I will definitely make it clear I’m not a fan of his attentions.”
“You don’t find him irresistible?” The quiet voice asked. His pride recovered at her obvious shock.
“No. I do not find him attractive at all. All dark and brooding. Now Lord Henswick is dashing. I think I’ll take him as my lover once I’m married.”
His pride fled and anger rose in its place.
The disdain in her voice when she spoke of him, and the knowledge she planned to take lovers when he would have offered her the world, saw his heart shrivel in his chest.
He turned and walked away and never spoke to Lady Abigail again. She would never be his duchess. He learned his lesson well. From that day on, he’d locked his heart securely away, realizing that women wanted the title, not the man.
How ironic that the one woman who wanted the man, not his title, had just refused his offer because he would not love her. He admired her courage and had to admit she was not interested in becoming just a duchess. He should marry her for that alone, but Harriet deserved more.
He deserved more, too.
A smile formed on his lips. It would be so easy to love her. The pain in his chest lessened as the chains shackling his heart loosened.
He let love flood his body and knew what he needed to do if he wanted to make this a Christmas to remember.
He had to convince the lady who would be his, and his alone, that his heart could love and that she filled it. Not an easy task given the bumbling fool start he’d made to showing her she was all he wanted.
Chapter Six
The crisp sunny winter’s day lifted Harriet’s spirits. The house was abuzz with organization. Apparently, as promised, Blade and her brothers had left early this morning to cut the trees and the proud fir tree’s scent filled the ballroom where it stood in its pot.
The doors out onto the terrace were cast wide open and at one end of the room tables were covered in food and drink. The tenants were right at home here, given this was an annual tradition. The men, including her brothers and Blade, were standing on the terrace in the sun talking about—well, she had no idea, but probably farming.
“Stop staring at him. The ladies are noticing.” She smiled at Diane’s teasing. “If you don’t want to marry him, maybe he’d wait for me.” And then Diane laughed.
That made her head snap round to where her sister stood next to the barrel containing the holly. “I’m glad you find this situation funny. I shall remind you of this when it’s your turn to be married off.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Diane said. “Father would never force you to marry anyone you didn’t want.”
She wanted him. That was the problem. She had hoped her bluff of not marrying unless he loved her made him confess his feelings, but no. And time was running out. Would she be strong enough to turn his proposal down?
A little hand tugging on her skirt interrupted Harriet’s worrying thoughts. “Are you getting married, my lady?”
She crouched down to answer little Betsie, the five-year-old daughter of Mrs. Watson, a widower. Her husband, one of the tenant farmers, had died of lung fever two years ago. Mrs. Watson and her three children lived in an estate cottage and was supported by her father. Harriet visited their cottage often to ensure they were doing well. She had a soft spot for Betsie. It was Mrs. Watson who had gifted her cat, Sir Lancelot. “I suspect I shall marry one day.”
“Mother says you are marrying Lord Bladestow and that you will have to leave Hearthstone.”
Trapped. What on earth did she tell the little girl? “Nothing is decided yet,” she whispered, hoping no one else could hear.
Betsie threw her arms around Harriet’s legs. “Then I hope you don’t marry. I don’t want you to leave,” and the little girl began crying.
Just then a shadow fell over them and Harriet looked up into Blade’s handsome face. It was obvious he didn’t like the little girl’s tears either. He bent down and plucked her up into his arms, and her cries immediately stopped. It appeared even little girls were not immune to Blade’s smile.
“Betsie is it? How would you like to put the angel candle on the top of the tree?”
She clapped her hands together. “I can’t reach.”
“You will if I lift you.”
Harriet handed Betsie the candle and Blade lifted her over his head and the little girl, with help from Blade, attached the candle at the top of the tree. While still up high, Betsie looked around the room. Spying her mother, she waved and called out, “Look, Mama,” and she pointed to the tree.
Blade swung her down into his arms. Betsie flung her arms around his neck and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I don’t mind if you marry Lady Harriet as long as you bring her home for Christmas each year.”
Blade laughed. “What about every other Christmas so I can spend a few Christmases with my family.”
Her face scrunched into a frown. “I suppose that would be all right.” She looked him in the eye and asked, “Do you love Lady Harriet? Mother says I should only ever marry if the man loves me like my Papa loved her.”
Ariane and Diane had to stuff their fists in their mouths to stop from laughing. Harriet froze, utterly mortified.
Blade turned slowly to stare at her as he uttered, “Your mother is very wise, Betsie, and you should remember her words. I think love is a very honorable reason for marriage.”
Little Betsie nodded as he set her down, not realizing he hadn’t answered her question much to Harriet’s dismay.
“If you will excuse me, ladies, I see Trello beckoning me.”