She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps because none of the men who showed interest interested me. You’ll think me cracked in the head, but when I made my debut, I imagined stepping into a ballroom and finding my perfect match, of being invited to dance by the gentleman of my dreams. When that didn’t happen, my interest in courtship and marriage dwindled.”
“And yer parents began pinning their hopes on yer sister.”
“Precisely.”
She shifted her gaze to his. A winsome smile caught her lips. And Logan could not tear his eyes away. Chest tight, he told her honestly, “I dinnae think there is anything foolish in wanting a love match, my lady.”
A log snapped in the grate but her eyes remained locked with his and in that moment Logan knew. This was the woman he’d one day marry. He couldn’t explain it. They’d only just met. But the unspoken truth was as real as the heat from the fire and the wind howling outside.
Intent on holding on to it, of holding on to her, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. Gazes locked, he kissed her, promising himself he would move heaven and earth in order to be the man who brought happiness to her life. “I’m glad ye’re here and that our paths crossed as they did. I’m glad we’ve been allowed this night free from all the formality we’ll have to face when we return to Dunkirk Castle in the morning.”
“As am I,” she murmured as if slightly dazed. She blinked and he saw wonder in her eyes. “I don’t recall feeling so at ease with anyone before. Not even with my own family. There’s always some expectation, an unspoken rule for me to behave in a certain way. But not with you. With you I feel as though I can relax in a way I’ve not been able to do in years. How can that be?”
“I willnae try to explain it but ye should ken that I feel the same. There’s something between us – something I mean to nurture to its fullest. If ye’ll allow me.”
“Yes.” Just a whisper, but it was as though that simple utterance explained the reason for his existence.
Unable to resist, Logan leaned in and brought his hand to her cheek. Slowly, so she would have every chance to withdraw, he pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle caress, so achingly sweet it made him slightly dizzy.
Pressing his forehead to hers he breathed in her fragrance. “No woman has ever affected me as ye do, and that’s the God honest truth.”
Her hand curled around the nape of his neck. “You’re the first man I’ve met for whom my heart beats with unsteady movements. The way I feel…”
“Aye, lass. I feel the same.” And to make certain she understood, he kissed her again. With increased fervor. Losing himself in her splendor, he told her without the need for words that for him, she’d always come first. And although he knew it might be too soon to say so, he had a feeling they would be planning a New Year’s wedding.
December 22
Reunited on Christmas Eve
It was more than twenty–five years since Phoebe Jennings had last attended a dance. After marrying Alfred, Viscount Rothburne, the boisterous life she’d known before had rapidly faded into obscurity. There had been no more shopping trips with friends, no evenings at the opera or at the many balls taking place each Season, not even a holiday spent in Bath.
From the moment she’d spoken her vows, she’d been whisked away to High Grove House, an ancient pile of bricks located on vast acreages of land in Northumberland – as far away from London as one could be while remaining in England.
The marriage had been one of convenience, orchestrated by Phoebe’s parents for the purpose of furthering the family’s social status. Her protests had fallen on deaf ears. After all, she’d had the future security of her siblings to consider. To marry for love would have been extraordinarily selfish when she’d gained a viscount’s attention. Or so she’d been told.
Now a widow for more than a year, it was finally time for her to return to the life she’d left behind so long ago.
Bolstered by her son’s presence, she swept inside the Chelsea assembly hall where a lively country dance was already underway. Strings of crystal beads strung up beneath the ceiling winked in response to the candlelight bouncing off them. Bunches of pine tied with red satin bows lent a woodsy aroma that served the holiday season well.
The familiar space prompted a flood of memories. She’d danced here once a long time ago – could see herself skipping along to a lively tune, dressed in a white muslin gown. Laughter had flowed through her veins as she’d held her dance partner’s gaze. He’d smiled at her with love in his eyes, and her heart had soared in those precious moments she’d always held dear.
A swift shake of her head dislodged the sentimental recollection. No sense in dwelling on dashed hopes and dreams. No point in regretting a past beyond her control.
The current melody faded, the increasing silence emphasizing the chatter, the rustle of gowns, and the shuffle of feet against the wood floor. It also drew attention away from the dance floor and toward any newly arrived guests.
Phoebe’s stomach knotted in response to the curious gazes that settled upon her as she moved farther into the room. She wasn’t accustomed to attention, but given her longtime absence from social events, people would either wonder who she was, or be shocked to see her.
She drew a steadying breath and clutched Henry’s arm.
“All right, Mama?” he queried, leading her to one side.
Phoebe nodded. “I simply need a moment to adjust.”
“Papa should have taken you out more.” This was said while frowning with grim disapproval.
A humorless laugh stole up Phoebe’s throat. “He did not enjoy the company of others.”
Alfred had been twenty years her senior. He’d also been certain his young wife would be unfaithful if given the chance. So he’d locked her away, permitting her to see only her immediate family if they chose to trek the long distance for a visit.
Not that Alfred was cruel. He never told her outright that she could not go anywhere, but he always found an excuse to keep her by his side.
Perhaps his insecurity came from knowing she’d been denied the match she wanted and that she’d loved another. Not that it mattered. The letters she’d written Oliver Blackstone in an effort to offer an explanation had all gone unanswered. Eventually, she’d ceased writing and had accepted the truth that she and Oliver were not only through with each other but that he preferred she leave him alone. As hard as it had been, there had been no choice but to move on and accept the cards she’d been dealt.
“I know it’s wrong to be relieved by someone’s passing,” Henry said, handing Phoebe a glass of punch. “Especially since I loved Papa. He was a good father but a terrible husband. I’m sorry for the life you had to endure as his wife.”
“It wasn’t so bad once I accepted the situation for what it was. Your father took good care of me, Henry, and while our marriage may have lacked romance, we found companionship and…” She sighed. “There are women who suffer worse fates than I ever did. I’ll not complain.”
Henry stared at her. “You truly are a remarkable woman, Mama. I’m glad to be able to take you out and bring you some joy. No one deserves it more.”