MARIAH FELT SELF-CONSCIOUS STANDING by Mrs. Miller and Mr. Eustace Miller, welcoming the guests to the party, but Mrs. Miller had been adamant that she be there. Mariah was now her dearest companion and should take her rightful place greeting the guests.
Despite the self-consciousness, the warm feeling of belonging surged again inside her heart. In a few short weeks, Mrs. Miller had somehow become the mother that Mariah had always wished for. She had also selected Mariah’s gown of celestial blue silk with its wide-collared neck that showed off her shoulders and throat. Mrs. Miller introduced her to guest after guest as her “very dear companion, Miss Mariah Carter.” Mariah mechanically held out her hand and smiled, until she saw his profile. Charles was here.
She breathed in too quickly and began to cough.
“Grandfather, Aunt Miller, Miss Carter, how do you do?” Charles asked.
“Fine,” Mariah managed to say between coughs.
“Charles, why don’t you take Mariah to get a drink?” Mrs. Miller suggested with a smile, and then turned back to speak to Aunt Bentley.
He took Mariah’s elbow and guided her into the room. He picked up a glass off a footman’s tray and handed it to Mariah. She sipped the wine slowly, then hiccupped.
“Oh dear,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. She hiccupped several more times.
“I am so—hic—embarrassed,” Mariah groaned.
“Why?”
“I was so—hic—nervous and—hic—now I can’t stop— hic—hiccupping.”
“Why are you nervous?”
Mariah felt her color rise, but managed to squeak, “You.”
Charles pointed to himself, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “I make you nervous.”
“Yes—hic—yes—hic—”
Mariah could see people around her staring at them. Sophie and Adaline Penderton-Simpson were both watching her.
“I must—hic—go.”
Without sparing another look at Charles, she walked quickly around the groups and out of the room. She passed through the hall, to the kitchen where she set down her wineglass, and outside to the small garden behind the house. She took off her gloves and used her hands to fan her hot cheeks.
How mortifying!
She heard footsteps and turned to see Charles at the door, illuminated by the gas lamps of the kitchen. Mariah turned away from the light. She bit her lip, hoping to stop the tears of embarrassment from falling down her cheeks and ruining her silk dress.
“Allow me,” Charles said quietly. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, but instead of handing it to her, he dabbed at each tear on her cheeks. He then placed the handkerchief in her hands, covering her hands with his.
“I am so—hic—sorry I seem to always—hic—take your handkerchiefs.”
Charles smiled and leaned in conspiratorially. “I only carry them for you.”
Mariah didn’t know what to say, so she blurted out, “I cannot—hic—seem to—hic—stop hiccupping—hic.”
Charles gently touched her neck. “May I offer you a solution?”
She nodded.
He cradled her face with his left hand, then leaned forward and gently placed his lips on hers. Mariah forgot her self-consciousness, her embarrassment, even her hiccups. Nothing existed but Charles and herself and the magic of a first kiss. He lifted his head and looked down at her, smiling, his hand still warm against the side of her face.
“Did I cure you of the hiccups?”
“Most effectively.”
“Mariah, I … I began to say something at the Royal Academy, and I wish to finish it.”
“All right.” She could barely breathe as he stood so close to her.
“Only that I love you, Mariah.”
She couldn’t speak. She was too overcome with emotion. Tears formed in her eyes.
“Oh, I … Please, don’t cry again,” Charles said, and stepped back, his hand falling from her face. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“These are tears of happiness,” Mariah said with a watery chuckle.
He cocked his head at her. “You cry when you’re happy?”
“I seem to cry over everything,” she confessed, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his handkerchief. “I must tell you that I have loved you for so long and so very, very much.”
Charles took her into his arms. His second kiss was nothing like the first—it was hard, passionate, and absolutely marvelous. When he lifted his head, Mariah caressed the planes of his face with her fingers just as she had done to the sketch of him. The curve of his upper lip. The line of his jaw. The arch of his eyebrow. Charles closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
They heard footsteps approaching and awkwardly broke apart. One of the kitchen maids dumped some liquid on the grass before looking up and suddenly seeing Mariah and Charles. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there, Miss Carter. I am most sorry.”
“We were just going in,” Mariah said.
Charles followed Mariah through the kitchen, past the stares of all the servants, and to the hall. Mariah turned to look at him. “Am I presentable?”
He gently tucked a curl behind her ear. “You are perfection.”
Mariah felt the delightful fluttering of her stomach again … and then hiccupped. “Oh no—hic—not again!”
“I believe we know how to solve this particular problem,” he said.
Mariah smiled and raised her face to be kissed.