Christmas arrived with Ainsley’s giggle.
Until she came through the front doors of Danfair, bundled in her Christmas tree ensemble, toting an armload of presents and a bubbly, excited air of anticipation, Matt had written off the holiday as a lost cause. He’d spent days in a fog of jumbled thoughts and fluctuating emotions, one minute angry as hell and raging with denial and self-recrimination, the next minute coldly self-loathing and detached, planning the most rational way to handle the situation…and Peyton.
Marriage.
As if that was a sane idea.
“Matt! Merry Christmas!” Ainsley’s eyes shone bright with excitement as she came up on tiptoe and leaned over the stack of gaily wrapped packages in her arms to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re going to be so happy when you see what I got you this year! Ivan got you a present, too, but it’s not nearly as great as my gift.” She thrust the packages into his arms and began stripping off her gloves. “Would you help Ivan get the rest of the stuff out of the car? Where’s Andrew? What did he break this time? He was hotdogging, wasn’t he? Is he ever going to grow up?”
She whisked off to the North Salon to find her twin, trailing coat, muffler and questions behind her, leaving Matt to feel that, at last, Christmas had come to Danfair.
The house had been unnaturally quiet in the two months since Ainsley’s wedding. Miranda was seldom home, spending most of her time—and a lot of her organizational energies—with Nate and his kids, either at his coffeehouse, A New Brew, or at his house, which was only a few blocks away, but might as well have been located clear across the country. For all intents and purposes, Miranda had already left home. Andrew, too, came and went, camera bag in hand, following his own agenda, spending a good deal of time at his studio and using Danfair more as a port of call than a home base. He’d returned yesterday from his ski trip, sporting a bright blue cast on his right ankle, a couple of nasty bruises and a complementary black eye.
As Andrew incidents went, it wasn’t that bad. He’d suffered much worse, on a regular basis, as a gawky kid, and could easily claim more scrapes, stitches, bruises, black eyes, chipped teeth and broken limbs than the rest of the Danvilles combined. Including cousins. Today, the sisters would give him due sympathy and tease him unmercifully for months to come, but he’d accept their sympathy, shrug off their teasing and be off on another quest the minute one called to him. In a day or two—certainly no less than a week—he’d be gone again, tracking the perfect photo op, searching for the one picture worth a thousand words. A broken ankle wouldn’t stop him. Nothing so simple ever had. Or could. Andrew had always considered life an adventure, a trek into uncharted territory, and the more obstacles he had to overcome, the more he enjoyed the journey.
Matt had always envied him his daring, along with the freedom he had to come and go as he pleased. He admired the talent Andy accepted as if it were no big deal and the privilege of being able to take his job with him wherever he wanted, or happened, to go. Matt could only imagine that kind of autonomy. His own roots were planted straight and deep in the soil of Danfair, in the history of his family. His career was anchored fast in the traditions and moral commitments of his parents…and their parents before them. His life journey had been charted out for him from birth. He was the firstborn son of the firstborn son, the Jonathan of his generation. The weight of expectation had settled on his shoulders early and he couldn’t recall a time when he hadn’t behaved in a manner that suited his position…a dutiful, responsible, diligent and gentlemanly manner.
So how had he managed, in one rash, reckless night, to throw all that aside and carelessly wreck his life’s plan?
And what would his family think of him once they knew?
Matt could imagine them all supportive, but quietly, silently disappointed in his choices, in him. How could he expect any other reaction? They couldn’t be any more disappointed in him than he was in himself. That night with Peyton had been so out of character for him, he could still hardly believe it had happened…that he’d allowed it to happen. He had enjoyed the hell out of it, too, which somehow made the whole thing worse. In hindsight, he could view the event as a repercussion of the changes happening all around him, a reaction to Ainsley’s wedding, Miranda’s engagement and his own dissatisfaction with his work. After the fact, he could rationalize his foolhardy actions as an attempt to escape a life that sometimes felt too much like someone else’s. But in reality, that night at the beach house, the driving force behind his loss of control, the annihilation of his sanity, had been the sheer power of the sexual tension he and Peyton had been skirting for months. He’d been unprepared for that, blindsided by the passion that had virtually exploded between the two of them once they were alone in the forgiving dark.
“Hey, Santa Claus!” Ivan called from the doorway, struggling to keep a grip on the mountain of gifts he was trying to carry. “Can you give me a hand here?”
With a jerk, Matt came out of his reverie and hurried over to help, carting gaily wrapped packages from outside to inside, from one room to another. Gradually, lulled into reminiscences of Christmas Past by the blithe chattering of his sisters, he relaxed and let his siblings’ happiness surround him with warmth. It was, after all, Christmas, and despite his situation, he had much to be grateful for.
Even without Charles and Linney, who had chosen not to come back so soon after their October visit, the house suddenly brimmed with holiday spirit and familial accord. By the time Nate arrived, with two bursting-with-excitement six-year-olds, two trying-not-to-show-their-excitement thirteen-year-olds and an abundant supply of Christmas presents, which also had to be unloaded and brought inside, Matt was feeling almost normal again.
The gift exchange flew by in a flurry of ripped paper, discarded bows, thrilled exclamations and stacks of treasures. The morning passed with lots of laughter and the simple pleasures of a loving family gathering. By early afternoon, other guests had arrived—Nate’s mother, his brother, Nick, Ivan’s parents from Texas, a couple of Andrew’s friends, half a dozen foreign students who worked, in one way or another, for the Foundation—and before Matt knew it, dinner was on the table, enjoyed by all, and over. The guests stayed for a while, then trickled away to other gatherings or home. Ainsley and Ivan left with his parents, Miranda left with Nate and the kids, Andrew hobbled off with his friends, and eventually Matt was left behind and alone to contemplate the Ghost of Christmas Future.
Next year, there would be a baby. His baby. The first new Danville of the next generation. A son. Or a daughter. Peyton had referred to the baby as a boy, but she couldn’t know. Not this early. Matt hoped she was wrong, that the baby would be a girl. Then there’d be no question of naming her Jonathan. She could have any name at all, a family name, a whimsical name, a name that simply suited her. If the baby was a girl, her future wouldn’t be laid out like a blueprint before her. She wouldn’t be tied to the Foundation and it wouldn’t be her responsibility to see that the Danville philosophy carried on into the next generation. If the baby was a boy, all those expectations would be his at birth. Which was why Matt had planned never to have children.
Yet he was having a child.
Next Christmas, his son or daughter would be four or five months old. If he married Peyton, they’d be more than halfway through the obligatory pregnancy plus one year commitment she’d requested. It seemed crazy to think of it that way and yet, over the course of the past week, he could see how she’d reached the conclusion that marriage offered a reasonable—and possibly the best—solution to their particular and complex situation. He didn’t want to believe it, but he hadn’t come up with another option that would provide the same benefits for their child. Or for the two of them. The truth was, they did live in a world of glass houses, where heritage and tradition meant more than perhaps it should, where appearance often trumped truth, and where a marriage of convenience, so long as it was kept quietly dignified, was considered an aristocratic bargain, noblesse oblige.
A year and seven months. Was that enough time to form a family, however fractured its beginning and its end? Would that be enough time for two strangers to become friends? Or would it make them enemies, instead? Could nineteen months of a lie really give their son or daughter a better foundation for life?
Matt thought the odds were against them, but he could see that the alternative was also a huge gamble. And whichever route he chose, he was choosing a future for his child. He didn’t know if Peyton was right, if marriage was the best course. He did know he intended to be a major participant in his child’s life. He knew he and Peyton had to put aside their own agendas and take responsibility for the life they’d created. He accepted that it was now their obligation to make whatever sacrifices were necessary to ensure this child had the best chance at the best life they could provide.
Next Christmas, there would be gifts under the tree for their baby from family and friends. Maybe she was right and the best gift they could offer as parents was a unified front and a family that had, at the least, started out together. It wasn’t a great solution, probably not even a particularly rational one but, after much consideration, it seemed to Matt the most honorable of the alternatives before him. It was, after all, his duty to make sure that the first Danville in the next generation was born under the protective auspices of marriage, wasn’t it? And, if they were careful, diligent and responsible, then only he and Peyton would ever have to know the magnitude of the lie they’d be living. This was wrong. He felt it in his gut. And yet, how could he not take the chance that in the long run, this lie would provide the one truth his child needed above all others?
Picking up the phone, he dialed Peyton’s number. “Merry Christmas, Peyton,” he said when she answered. “This is Matt Danville.” How extraordinary that he should feel the need to introduce himself to the woman he was about to marry, that he couldn’t simply expect her to recognize his voice. “I trust you’ve had a nice holiday.”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, her voice soft with hesitation. “I hope yours was nice, as well.”
“It was, yes, thank you,” he said as if their stilted conversation was perfectly natural, completely normal. “Are you busy?”
“I’m packing, actually.”
“Oh, that’s right. You mentioned you were going to visit a friend in New Orleans.”
“Baton Rouge,” she corrected.
“Right. Baton Rouge.” He gathered his courage, prepared to fling his reservations ahead of him off the cliffs of no return. “Can you…would you consider…canceling your trip?”
Her silence felt awkward, unencouraging. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps this would be a good time for us—for you and me—to make a trip to Niagara Falls.”
“N-Niagara Falls?”
“No. No, I thought it was a honeymoon resort.”
He almost smiled. “A little more than that. The falls are spectacular…a natural wonder everyone should see at least once in a lifetime.”
“You’ve been there?” she asked.
“Yes. But not on a honeymoon. I’ve never been married, Peyton. I thought there was a good possibility I would never marry.” He paused before adding, “But then, you came along.”
“I came along,” she repeated, the words mocking his attempt to make this anything other than what it was—a contract into which neither of them wished to enter. “And what will we—you and I—do in Niagara Falls?”
Obviously, she wanted him to spell it out for her. “There are wedding chapels there, Peyton. We’ll spend a couple of days in the area, get married, and be back in time to announce our marriage on New Year’s Eve.”
Her long sigh held regret and relief. “You agree with me, then, that this is the best alternative?”
“Yes. Have you changed your mind?”
“No, of course not but…you do think it’s the right thing for us to do, Matt? I mean, we are virtual strangers.”
“Who are going to have a child together.”
“Who are going to have a child together,” she repeated with deep resignation.
“I don’t know if it’s the right choice, Peyton. I have no idea if we’re doing the right thing or if we’re going to wish later that we’d done something else. But it’s true that we live and work within a tightly knit, often highly judgmental community, and because of that, I believe marriage offers the best means of protecting you and the baby.”
“It protects you, too, Matt. Please don’t pretend you’re only being noble.”
He was being noble, damn it. She could allow him at least that much dignity. “Are you going to cancel your trip to Baton Rouge and come to Niagara Falls with me?” he asked tersely. “Or do you have another plan in mind?”
“No, you’re right. If we’re going to do this, an elopement is probably best. And the sooner, the better. It’s not as if…as if waiting will make it easier.”
The hint of tears in her voice elicited his reluctant sympathy. “Would you rather have a wedding here? With your family present?”
“Oh, no. No. An elopement is much more practical. And…safer.”
Sure thing. As if her parents wouldn’t be ecstatic about this union. He’d thought about that, too, during the past week. A lot. He knew there was a chance this situation had been orchestrated, or at least, encouraged, by her parents, who were eager to find acceptance within the society the Danvilles had been born into for generations. For Connie and Rick O’Reilly, this marriage would be the magic key they had made no secret of wanting for their daughters and for themselves. Matt was aware of the benefit the O’Reilly family would gain through this marriage. He’d given it due consideration. But in the end he’d decided it made no difference. He wasn’t a victim in this. He’d made his choice and he would live with it. “Then we’ll leave tomorrow morning,” he said. “Shall I pick you up or would you prefer to meet somewhere?”
“The airport,” she answered quickly. “I’ll meet you there about ten. That’s when I’d originally planned to arrive for my flight to Baton Rouge. I’ll call my friend in Louisiana tonight and offer some excuse.”
“Tell her you’re eloping,” Matt suggested. “I think we should try to be as honest as possible about what we’re doing. We’re the only ones who need ever know we’re not in love and don’t plan to stay married for the rest of our lives. Anything beyond that should be the truth, or as close to the truth as we can make it.”
“I’m not sure there’s any truth at all in this.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Yes. I would never lie about that.”
“Then that’s the only truth that counts.”
“I don’t know, Matt.”
“You don’t have to go through with this, Peyton. You can change your mind.”
Her silence lasted so long he thought perhaps she had…and his heart inexplicably sank with regret. “I’ll meet you at the airport,” she replied resolutely. “At ten. Near the ticket counters.”
“I’ll find you.”
“I’ll make car rental and hotel reservations,” she said in that take-charge voice he knew well.
“No, you just concentrate on breathing between now and tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll take care of the details.” He hung up, took several long, deep breaths himself, then picked up the phone again to make the necessary arrangements.
PEYTON SANK onto the edge of her bed, letting the phone receiver dangle, the cord curl loosely through her fingers. Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.
But…marriage. Suddenly, it seemed so real.
She didn’t know what she’d expected to feel, wasn’t sure what she actually did feel now. Relief? Yes. She didn’t want to face the pregnancy alone, not any part of it, good or bad. Remorse? Oh, yes, there was that, too. And much as she hated to admit it, she felt rescued. And grateful that he’d agreed to shoulder half the responsibility, for better or worse.
Of course, she’d known he couldn’t do otherwise. She’d dealt with him on enough Foundation issues during the past several months to understand that he was a man of principle. Even when the principle he defended was wrong. She’d had enough arguments with him over the way the Foundation too often conducted its fund-raising to think he would shrink from a challenge. So why had she offered him such diametrically opposed, equally unpalatable, alternatives and then dared him to choose one over the other?
Because she’d thought maybe, somehow, that if she presented him such stark, black-and-white extremes, he would come up with a compromise. She’d hoped somehow he would see another option, the better idea that had eluded her. So now, it was settled.
They would marry. And she would keep breathing.
Admittedly, marriage would be a refuge from scandal and gossip. Having and raising a child alone, refusing to name the father, had not seemed an appealing prospect, although she would have done it if Matt’s decision had been different, if circumstances had proved it necessary. Her mother would never have forgiven her. Connie Barton O’Reilly had been raised with an ideology that made illegitimacy a sin shared equally by mother and child; a baby born out of wedlock was a shameful mistake, a thing to be hidden, shunted into the background in order not to embarrass the entire family. Once she knew Matt Danville was the father, she would have moved heaven, earth and every cloud in between to force Peyton into marrying him. She would have used any means at her disposal to persuade Matt that marriage was the only honorable course. There would have been no trick too manipulative, no method too devious. Connie would have pulled out all the stops to have her daughter marry into one of the oldest, most honored families in New England.
Peyton knew this about her mother. She hated it, but she knew it. And she knew the damage it would cause. For Matt. For the baby. For Peyton, herself. Matt probably suspected it, too, and while she felt certain he wasn’t happy about this solution, like her, he’d come to the conclusion that an elopement was their best hope of thwarting a scandal. She’d thought about this dilemma from every angle before she’d ever presented it to Matt. Now, he had reached the same conclusion.
And she was grateful.
Because no matter from which angle she looked at their situation, marriage seemed the lesser of the bad choices before them.
Replacing the phone on the bedside table, she turned to her suitcase, already packed, awaiting only her cosmetics bag and last-minute items. All she needed for a trip to Louisiana, but hardly anything warm enough for a trip to Niagara Falls in the dead of winter.
Eloping.
She was eloping.
“Hey, Pey.” Scarlett tapped on the door and came in. “Can I borrow that sweater Mom gave you for Christmas? The blue one?”
Peyton hadn’t even taken it out of the box. “I thought she got you one just like it.”
Scarlett flounced onto the bed and began rifling through the suitcase. “Mine’s pink. Pink would be much better for you. The blue would look much better on me. You know Mom, she never gets the colors right.” She glanced up with a hopeful smile. “We could trade.”
“I don’t think your sweater will fit me.”
“You should wear things tighter,” Scarlett advised knowledgeably. “Show off your boobs. You’ve got ’em, why not flaunt ’em?”
Peyton picked the blue cashmere sweater out of her stack of gifts and tossed it to Scarlett, who caught it handily. “You can have mine and keep yours, as well,” she said. “Just give me back that fleece pullover you stole a couple of weeks ago.”
“Thanks.” Scarlett smoothed the sweater, checked the attached tags. “I think I’ll take this and the pink back and exchange them for this great pair of boots I saw at the mall. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I don’t.” Peyton dumped out the contents of her suitcase, prepared to start over. “Mom might.”
Scarlett watched with interest. “She’ll never notice. What are you doing?”
“Packing.” In went two long-sleeved shirts and two sweaters. Peyton made a trip to the closet for wool slacks and a pair of jeans. From her dresser, she snatched heavy socks and a couple of long-sleeved tees and added them to the suitcase, too.
“I know it’s December, Pey, but remember Louisiana is way south of here, and way warmer.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said, making room in the suitcase for her favorite flannel pj’s.
Scarlett eyed the pajamas, then skewered Peyton with suspicion. “Where are you going?” she asked pointedly. “Really.”
Peyton considered sticking with her original plan as alibi. Lying, in effect. “Not to Louisiana,” she hedged.
“That much I figured. Is this a recent itinerary change? Did you and Michelle decide to go skiing or something?”
“I’m not going to visit Michelle after all,” Peyton said, then decided Matt was right about the truth. As much truth as possible. Scarlett would hate being the last to know. She might feel special knowing she was the first. “I’m going to Niagara Falls. To get married.”
“Get out!” Scarlett laughed, falling back on the bed in a fit of giggles. “Like that’s not the biggest lie you’ve ever told!”
“Maybe it’s not a lie.”
“Right.” Sarcasm dripped from the word, bringing Scarlett back up to a sitting position beside the suitcase. “You’re running off to get married. Ha. As if.”
Peyton stayed mum. One good thing about a fifteen-year-old sister was that she could usually be counted on to argue all positions.
“Like, if you were really going to elope, you’d be packing flannel pajamas.”
Good point. Peyton returned to the dresser, dug in her lingerie drawer until she found something more appropriate. A little black number made of silk so fine it looked like a gossamer cobweb—and as sexy as hell. She gave it a little flip before laying it in the suitcase, looked up in time to see Scarlett’s jaw drop.
“You’re just putting that in to trick me,” Scarlett accused. “But I happen to know you haven’t even been dating anyone, so how can you be getting married?”
“I imagine we’ll stand before a minister and say, ‘I do.”’
“All right, then, who’s the guy?”
Peyton merely smiled. “You’ll find out the minute we get back.”
“That means this is all a joke.” Scarlett flounced off the bed. “Well, it’s not funny, Peyton. And I’m not giving you back the pullover, either. You’ll have your new husband to keep you warm. So there!” She stalked out of the room then, taking the new blue sweater with her and slamming the door behind her as she went.
So much for truth, Peyton thought. But Scarlett was right about one thing.
Nothing about this was funny.
Not funny at all.