9

Christmas morning dawned crisp and clear. The motes of the air, frozen into tiny crystals of ice, sparkled in the sunlight. Elinor, enlivened by the restoration of her health and by the brilliance of the morning, threw open her window and breathed deeply. She was well, her head was clear, and she would be free to leave her bedroom by the afternoon. It was going to be a glorious day.

Before she’d breathed her fill, there was a knock at the door. Expecting the caller to be her mother (who was certain to berate her for standing barefoot at an open window), she hopped quickly back into bed and drew up her covers. But it was not her mother. Her first visitor of the day was Cousin Felicia. The girl burst into Elinor’s room with an eager step and eyes alight with excitement. “Did you hear what happened last night?” she asked, perching on the side of Elinor’s bed. “One of the carriages skidded on a patch of ice and the two right wheels sideslipped into a ditch.”

“Goodness!” Elinor exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No, but the Earl and Lady Lovebourne had to squeeze into the other coach with Mama, Papa, and Aunt Martha. There was no room for anyone else, so Julian and I waited inside the tilted carriage while the coachman went for help. It took so long for the livery men to come and right the coach that we missed the entire church service.”

“That is too bad. You must have been freezing!”

“No, I had a lap robe, and Julian gave me his muffler. We had a lovely chat, he and I. All about you.”

Elinor was taken aback. “About me?”

“Yes, he told me about your courtship, about how he met you at an assembly ball while visiting a school friend at Leyburn, and how he drove his phaeton up from London every week thereafter to woo you.”

“Goodness, is that all he could find to speak to you about?” Elinor asked, astounded. “How very dull for you!”

“No, I truly enjoyed it. You are very fortunate in your betrothed, Elinor. He’s not only the handsomest creature on God’s green earth, but he’s utterly charming.”

“Yes, he is.” Elinor studied her younger cousin curiously. Felicia’s manner was so open and free of guilt that it was clear the girl had no designs on Julian at all. But even more astonishing, it appeared that Julian had taken no advantage of the opportunity the accident had provided to try to attach her. What was the matter with the fellow? Why, if he was smitten with Felicia, did he spend those precious moments of privacy reminiscing about a romantic involvement with someone else? He’d seemed so proficient in the art of dalliance a few days ago; why was he suddenly behaving like a clod? “Didn’t he spend any time talking about you, Felicia?” she asked.

Felicia shrugged. “Perhaps at first, to be polite. But it was you he had on his mind.”

“I’m quite surprised. I had the distinct impression he found you delightful.”

“Me? Why do you believe that? He thinks of me as your silly little cousin, that’s all.”

“No, that’s not true. I believe he’s quite taken with you. Would you not like it if he were? After all, you did say you find him charming and ‘the handsomest fellow on God’s green earth.’”

Felicia blinked at her in puzzlement. “Yes, I did say that, of course. And he is.”

“Don’t you like him, then?”

“Yes, very much. As a partner for you.”

“Only in that way? But, Felicia, let us suppose for a moment that Julian and I were not betrothed. In those circumstances, wouldn’t you have the slightest urge to attach him to yourself?”

“As a suitor, you mean?” Felicia’s eyebrows rose in amusement, as if the mere suggestion were a ridiculous impossibility. “Good heavens, no! Your Julian may be handsome, but he’s much too old for me. Besides, I’m madly in love with Bertie, you know.”

“Bertie?”

“Bertie Duffield. You know whom I mean. I’ve told you of him dozens of times. My friend Sarah’s brother.”

“Oh. That Bertie. I see.” Elinor did remember hearing of a Bertie, but she hadn’t paid mind to the name. Felicia had such a tendency to babble that it was sometimes difficult to sift the meaningful details from the dross. “And is this Bertie madly in love with you, too?” she asked, fascinated.

Felicia smiled in naughty delight. “Of course he is, though we haven’t told a soul. Papa doesn’t like him above half. We’re waiting until Papa becomes used to him. In a few months, when Papa is softened up sufficiently, Bertie will ask for my hand. We have it all planned. Meanwhile, you won’t give me away to Mama or anyone, will you, Elinor?”

Elinor assured her that her lips were sealed. But she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her once-betrothed. Before Julian could plead his cause, it was already a lost one. Poor Julian, she thought. He never had a chance.

After Felicia took her leave, it occurred to Elinor to wonder what would happen next. Would Julian, having been so quickly deflected from his amorous objective, now wish to reinstate the betrothal? Would he come to realize he loved Elinor after all? And if he did, would she be pleased? She had to be pleased, she supposed, for it would mean she could resume her life as she’d been planning it for the past five years. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

But she knew, with a certainty that came from deep within her, that the answer was no. No, it was not what she wanted. In these few days since Julian’s return, she’d learned to understand herself. Julian had been a girl’s dream, but she was a woman now. And the woman she’d become had suddenly recognized her deeper dreams, dreams that in girlhood she’d pushed aside as impossible. But perhaps they were possible now. Miles Endicott had kissed her. That had made all the difference. She could now admit the truth: It was Miles she wanted, Miles she loved. No one else, not even the “handsomest creature on God’s green earth” would do.