Her son took his leave, granting Oliver the one thing he’d wanted for longer than he could recall – to be alone with Phoebe again. Or as alone as one could be in a crowded assembly hall. But at least they finally had the chance to reconnect, to speak in private, and he hoped, to recapture the magic they’d once shared.
He offered his arm. “Shall we take a turn of the room?”
The moment she touched him it was as if the years they’d spent apart vanished, and they were once more the young couple they’d been – happy in love and eager to marry.
“Matilda says you wrote,” Phoebe said when they’d gone a few paces.
“I did. Repeatedly. But I never received a response, so I eventually stopped.”
“I wrote to you too,” she said, surprising him. “I trust you never received my letters either. Matilda certainly didn’t.”
He shook his head. “Your husband?”
“Was a jealous man who knew my heart would never belong to him. I realize now he did what he could to keep me for himself.” Her fingers tightened upon his arm and when she spoke next, her voice was wrapped in painful regret. “Oliver. I’m so very sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He drew her toward a set of windows where no one else lingered and turned to face her. “Your parents forced your hand, Phoebe, and then your husband trapped you. We did not stand a chance.”
“I was miserable. All I wanted was to run away and be with you, but then my sons were born and I couldn’t. Please tell me you understand.”
“Of course I do.” He smiled at her, offering her the reassurance he knew she needed. Absolving her, he hoped, of the blame she clearly believed to be hers. “The viscount seems like a lovely young man. If I may say so, you’ve done an excellent job of raising him.”
“Henry is the reserved one while his brother, Charles, is more spirited in nature. Both are kind and considerate though. At least with regard to their upbringing, I can be proud.” Concern lingered within her gaze. “Matilda said you’re unattached. Did you never marry or have children?”
“No.” He’d never recovered from losing Phoebe and while he’d eventually set his mind to moving on, no other woman had ever appealed. Eventually, he’d lost the desire to try. Noting her pained expression he hastened to say, “I have no regrets on that score, Phoebe, though I do hope our meeting this evening might be the beginning of something new. Will you dance with me?”
“Of course.” Tears clung to her lashes, reflecting the heartfelt emotion that gripped his own soul.
Unable to resist, he leaned in, heedless of who might see, and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “Please rest assured I have always loved you and that I still do.”
“I love you too.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” He drew her into his arms for a tight embrace, savoring the warmth of her body as memories flooded his mind. They’d stood like this before, the evening before her wedding. Back then, their hearts had been broken. Now, he could feel them both beating with newfound hope.
Easing away before their embrace caused a scandal, he smiled at her fondly and proceeded to lead her toward the dance floor, and toward the future they both deserved – one in which they could finally be together as they were intended to be.
December 23
Only a Duke Will Do for Christmas
Heedless of the winter frost digging its claws into her body, Laura Finchly set her foot on the lowest knot of the old apple tree on her neighbor’s property. Grabbing the nearest branch, she pushed herself upward. Dressed in breeches, she wasn’t hindered by vast amounts of fabric swooshing about her legs, and she quickly made her ascent.
Stealing wasn’t a habit of hers, but she deemed it necessary on this one occasion. Besides, the Duke of Levinstone had enough mistletoe to outfit every home in the area ten times over. All she needed was a small piece. Just enough to ruin her stepfather, Mr. Faulkner’s, plan.
Grunting slightly with the effort it took to haul herself onto a higher branch, she clambered with the resolve of a woman intent on forging her own path in the world. Her fate was her own to determine. Nobody had the right to interfere.
Her gloved hand reached out, throwing her slightly off balance while she stretched toward the next branch. Her right foot slipped, leaving her in a precarious spot until she was able to regain her footing. After taking a moment to gather her composure, she continued her climb. Just a bit further.
It took a few minutes for her to reach her desired spot – a thick branch that promised to hold her while she collected the mistletoe she required. Scooting onto the branch, she positioned herself with her back resting firmly against the trunk. A victorious smile curled her lips as she looked out between the bare branches. It was like sitting upon an elaborate throne at the top of the world with beauty stretching as far and wide as the eye could see.
Shaking herself free from the thought, Laura went to work. It was vital she not take too long lest her stepfather notice her absence. She cut off a clump of mistletoe with the knife she’d brought and placed it inside her jacket. Returning the knife to her pocket, she glanced about in preparation for her descent.
Her heart began beating faster. How on earth had she gotten up here? She could not for the life of her figure out which branch she’d stepped on last in order to reach this point. All appeared to be too far away.
For a second, she contemplated jumping, but she was so high up, she feared she might cause herself serious harm if she did so. On the other hand, the cold wasn’t doing her any favors. Her fingers and toes were already begging to be warmed by a fire.
Concern expanded within her as she acknowledged her problem.
Apparently, she was well and truly stuck. And unless she became unstuck and made it to this evening’s ball, there would be hell to pay.
Clive Argent, Duke of Levinstone, had decided to take a brisk afternoon ride. Having been absent from his estate for a few weeks, he thought it prudent to survey his property before enjoying an evening out at his neighbor’s.
The invitation to a Yuletide ball had been patiently waiting for him on his desk when he’d entered his study earlier in the day. Despite his exhaustion from two day’s travel, he would not miss the event for anything in the world since it would allow him to spend time with Laura. Miss Finchly, rather, but he never referred to her as such in the privacy of his mind.
They’d practically grown up together though he’d spent long stretches of time away at school and university. Then his father had died and it had been Clive’s duty to take his seat in Parliament and to visit the other family properties he’d inherited. Only now, with the year almost at an end, had he managed to find the time to return to these parts.
Hopefully now he’d also find his tongue.
His heart produced a wild thump on that thought. As his father’s heir, he’d always been someone of consequence. Doors had been open to him and almost everyone in Society had attempted to be his friend. This was even truer now that he was the duke. It was exhausting, smiling politely and thinking up ways in which to extricate oneself from afternoons out with some eager mama and her daughter.