Steven grinned. “Honestly, I am equally relieved. These past few hours I’ve been an anxious mess, worried I’d lose my position no matter what I did.”
She sympathized. If Lady Isabelle had indeed propositioned him, it would have put him in an impossible position – one from which it would have been hard for him to acquit himself without someone thinking ill of him.
Thankfully, this wasn’t the case. But before Beatrice could say as much, she was distracted by a loud popping sound right before the sky lit up with shimmering flares of silver and gold.
A gasp of wonder stole past her lips as she moved to the pavilion’s railing and craned her neck to better see. Another firework swiftly followed, this time in a bright display of red and green.
“It does look as though her ladyship may have intended for us to meet instead,” Steven said, the low timbre of his voice shifting the ground beneath Beatrice’s feet. He stood beside her now, so close his arm pressed into hers as they watched the next burst of light overhead. Her heart trembled in response, her skin pricking with a desperate need for added closeness with him. And then he whispered, so softly she had to strain to hear. “I, for one, am immensely pleased with her meddling.”
Beatrice feared her heart might hop right out her breast if it beat any harder. She tried to gather her thoughts, to understand what was happening. Was Steven, the handsomest man she knew, the same man she’d admired since the day the housekeeper hired her, really declaring an interest in her? It was like a dream come true and frankly the most perfect Christmas gift she could have received.
Pulse racing and with her stomach flapping about like a flag caught in a violent storm, she fought for the courage to be as forthright as he. It wasn’t easy but it was necessary. Steven had taken the first step and he deserved to know that she welcomed his attentions.
Swallowing, she reached for his hand and glanced up at him through the darkness. “As am I.”
“Bea…” His fingers twined with hers, adding warmth along with a deep sense of rightness. Additional fireworks lit up the sky but Beatrice no longer watched them. Her attention was riveted by Steven, by the press of his palm against her cheek as he slowly drew nearer, so near his forehead grazed hers. And then his lips found her mouth, gently pressing as if requesting permission.
Delighting in this new sensation – in the soft perfection it offered – Beatrice clasped his lapels and kissed him back with all she was worth. A satisfied sigh passed from his mouth to hers, binding them together as one.
Wrapped in his warm embrace, she found the cold quickly receded until molten heat filled her veins. And as the kiss gradually deepened, Beatrice silently thanked her mistress for playing matchmaker this Christmas Eve. And she vowed to try and return the favor one day with Steven’s help.
December 15
The Duke Proposes on Christmas
Duncan Tobias Spencer, Duke of Southwater, studied his reflection in the cheval mirror. His heart beat with what felt like great effort as he considered the ruined flesh that rippled across his right cheek – an angry reminder of the foolish duel he’d engaged in some ten years earlier.
He’d been rash and cocky back then, eager to play the dashing knight to the first girl he took a fancy to. As a result, a lead shot had plowed through his cheek while his own attempt at satisfaction had struck his opponent in the chest. It was, by all accounts, a stroke of good fortune that neither man had died.
Duncan winced at that thought and watched his skin pucker into an ugly mess of scarred tissue. His chest, tight with concern, restricted his every breath. What the hell was he thinking? Fiona, the gently bred lady who’d been his ward for the past five years, was beauty incarnate. The only way in which she’d even consider an ugly lout like him as more than a guardian or a friend would be out of pity.
But she would make her debut this coming spring and once she did, she would have every bachelor tripping over himself for a chance to court her. Once that happened, Duncan’s chance to win her for himself would be gone forever.
And yet…
He scrubbed his jaw with one hand and considered the small box he held in the other.
A lovely sapphire ring rested within. He’d picked it out last night when he’d made his decision to tell Fiona how he felt. The years they’d shared had been the best of his life, and the most recent ones had made him view her in a new way.
It had been a gradual shift in perspective on his part. But one thing was clear. Fiona was no longer the young girl who’d averted her gaze whenever she’d met him but rather a woman who seemed to enjoy his company as much as he enjoyed hers.
She challenged his mind every day with interesting conversation and had in recent months stirred his blood in ways that terrified him. He craved her touch with every fiber of his being, yearned for her kisses with such despair it threatened to drive him mad. She was the light to which he was helplessly drawn, and the thought of her leaving, of accepting attentions from other men – men who were perfectly formed and as handsome as she was lovely – made him want to punch holes through walls.
Thus the reason for his decision. He had to face his greatest fear and declare himself. Yes, she might refuse him and yes, revealing the innermost workings of his heart might ruin the bond that had formed between them. But if he did nothing and simply allowed her to slip away, he’d never forgive himself. Better to try and face rejection than to be a coward and lose by default.
And since it was Christmas Eve with magical possibilities filling the air, it felt like the perfect occasion for him to romance her. Provided he didn’t bungle it and turn her favorite day of the year into an awful disaster.
It took Fiona almost three hours to get herself ready for dinner. This with the assistance of Jenny, her lady’s maid, who’d helped her try on six different gowns with remarkable patience. In the end, Fiona had settled for the first one Jenny suggested – a gold creation with beaded cap sleeves and a wide sash sewn from blonde lace. It was perhaps a miracle Jenny hadn’t murdered Fiona with the comb she currently wielded.
“I’m sorry for being so difficult today,” Fiona said while Jenny twisted and pinned her chestnut–colored tresses. “I simply want to look my best. After all, it is Christmas Eve.”
“It certainly is, my lady. And you are never difficult.” Jenny reached for a crystal tipped pin. “I quite enjoy helping you look your best. There. What do you think?”
Fiona studied Jenny’s efforts and smiled. “Perfect.”
“I’m sure the duke will agree,” Jenny murmured. The older woman’s eyes sparkled in a way that suggested she knew exactly why Fiona fretted about her appearance.
The comment came dangerously close to crossing the bounds of what a lady might discuss with a servant and yet, Fiona appreciated the reassurance. Turning in her seat, she looked at Jenny. “Thank you.”
Jenny responded with a warm smile and departed, leaving Fiona alone with her jittery nerves. This evening would not be easy, but it was past time for her to honest if she were to have any hope at all of acquiring the future she dreamed of. She’d no idea when Southwater – Duncan as she liked to think of him in the privacy of her own mind – had become her entire world. There was no particular moment in time she could turn to, but rather a long series of shared moments to deepen her affection.