Adam and Christopher left Little Macclow as soon as Adam fulfilled his duty of announcing the day’s activity the following morning. “Poetry Day” ought to challenge the wits of all the villagers. If they could not recite bits from poems they knew, they were expected to make up rhymes to say to each other as they went about their day. He imagined some very bad verses would come into the world this day.
The cold had not let up, and they stopped as often as they could to warm themselves and rest the horses. A hard night of drinking with all of the street-ball race winners and losers had left both of the friends feeling ill and prone to silence. Beneath his discomfort, however, Adam noticed a little glow of satisfaction. His proposal that the losers repair the town’s road and replace the missing signpost had met with approval last night. He hoped the men would still remember the assignment today.
They made reasonable time given the snowy roads and reached Christopher’s home in three hours. After resting and changing horses, Adam continued on from there. By the time he crested the final hilltop that offered the first sight of Blakehill, the cold had settled bone-deep and he could barely keep his grip on the reins. The faltering pale sunlight of the earlier day had retreated behind dark, foreboding clouds that seemed ironically appropriate to his imminent arrival. Did they mean more snow?
The little mare he rode, fresh from the stables at Hazelton two hours ago, did not know the way. However, the small rush of excitement that always filled Adam’s heart when his ancestral seat came into view must have passed to her, because she suddenly picked up her pace without any prodding from him. Apparently she did not also sense his simultaneous reluctance to face what he knew was coming.
As originally built, Blakehill had likely nestled quaintly in its valley, but Adam’s great-grandfather, the 3rd Earl of Grantsborough, had tripled the size of the manor house by adding large wings onto both sides of the original 17th century gray stone structure. Now the imposing result dominated the landscape, presenting a uniformly symmetrical face to the world–a grand residence transformed into a solidly Georgian presence. The house would be full of company, for that is how his parents always celebrated Christmas.
He clucked to the horse and guided her down the slope towards the entrance of the long drive leading to the house. When they reached the stable block, Adam turned in under the archway and rode through the large cobbled courtyard to the section closest to the house. At the sound of hooves, several stable-hands emerged from the buildings.
“My lord! Welcome home. May I say that you were missed? We are right glad that you are returned safely. Your mother will be very glad to see you.”
Adam dismounted and with numb fingers handed the reins to the head groom who greeted him.
“Very glad may be putting it a little too strongly, Perkins, but I know she could not have been happy that I missed Christmas. She is no doubt eager to put that right.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“This little beauty comes from the stables at Hazelton. Her name is Urania. I know that you will treat her well. We will need to send her back home as soon as we can. Right now my most urgent need is to get myself inside where it will be warm!”
“Yes, sir. We will take good care of this little visitor. Let us not delay you from heading inside. Again, welcome home.”
Adam didn’t want to disturb his parents and their guests, so he slipped in through the kitchen. That room was a flurry of activity as the staff worked on preparations for the large dinner that would be served in another hour or so. As they concentrated on their tasks, no one noticed him at first. He couldn’t resist sneaking up behind Mrs Ayles, the head cook, and slipping his arms around her ample waist. A quick kiss on her ruddy cheek brought a highly satisfactory shriek of surprise.
“Master Adam, good Lord, you could cause my heart to stop!” She turned and hugged him. “Welcome home, my lord. You are a sight for sore eyes and have stayed away far too long. Then stranded and missed my Christmas pudding!! Goodness!! Come you here by the fire, you are that frozen! Betsy, pull over that chair!”
“Thank you. It is good to be home, and I admit that the fire is very welcome. I’ll warm myself for a moment, but if someone would send word up to my parents that I am here? I didn’t want to cause a scene with all the guests. This way the Earl and my mother can excuse themselves for a few minutes and we can greet each other in private.”
“I’ll find Mr. Tully and inform him,” said one of the servants he didn’t know, heading for the upper house. Adam collapsed into the chair that had been placed by the fire for him and after stripping off his gloves, held his hands out to warm them. After a few minutes a footman arrived with a summons for Adam to meet his parents in the library.
Adam heaved a sigh as he got up. He wasn’t fully thawed out yet. He knew he was probably in the way here, but from the time he was a small boy he had always made the kitchen his refuge, and Mrs Ayles had always welcomed him. He felt rather like that small boy now, going to face his parents. He looked over at the cook and received a smile and an encouraging head nod, as if she somehow knew what he was feeling.
He knew better than to ask the footman for an assessment of his parents’ state of mind as they headed for the library. It was not a servants’ place to offer such an opinion in the first place, and second of all, the Earl and the Countess would never reveal their emotions about family matters in front of their servants. At least there would be another warming fire in the library, and his father also kept a fine French brandy there in a decanter on the mantle. As they moved through the house, Adam could hear the sound of the pianoforte in the salon, where someone, most likely his sister Emma, was keeping the guests occupied. He recognized the Mozart piece as one of her favorites.
When Adam entered the library, his father was standing by the garlanded marble fireplace, tall and silent, with a glass of the prized brandy in his hand. The Countess, slender and always coolly elegant, sat impatiently alert in one of the leather-upholstered armchairs placed close by. She rose the instant the door closed behind Tully as he left and ran over to embrace Adam.
“Here you are at long last!! We were so worried about you.”
He hugged her back, but the censure underneath her comments wasn’t lost on him. He was accustomed to her double-layered communication. “Hello, mother, father. I’m sorry you worried. You needn’t have. I did send you word.”
She released him. “Yes, word that your carriage was disabled and you were stranded in some tiny hamlet. That was supposed to give me no cause for worry?”
“Well, yes. At least you knew where I was.”
“Not really. We’d never heard of Little Macclow, or whatever it is. Where did you stay? We’d no idea what sort of place it was.” She turned away from him and held her hands out to the warmth from the fire. She didn’t make a space for him to join her there, so either he had thawed out enough for the chill on him to be unnoticeable, or more likely, his mother wasn’t paying that much attention.
He sighed. “The village is not all that tiny. There’s an inn, where I stayed. There’s a manor and a church. My phaeton is at the smithy awaiting repair, and my horses are at the livery stable.”
“You stayed in a common inn? You were not invited to stay at the manor?” His mother missed the point entirely. “You should have been invited. Did you not tell them who you were? Who lives there?”
“Mother, I was invited. I chose to stay at the inn, for various reasons. Squire Tobias Hammon and his wife, Lady Anne, live there and were extremely kind and hospitable people. Christopher spent last night with them very comfortably.”
“Grantsborough, do we know them? I don’t recall ever hearing of them.”
The earl downed the last of his drink in a single gulp and set the glass on the mantel. “I’ve heard of them. Never met them as far as I know.” He picked up the decanter and set another glass next to his. “Adam? Restorative?”
“Oh, bless you, father. Yes, please!” More than one way to get warm again.
As he took the glass from his father, his mother said, “Well, I suppose that lends credence to your story, Adam. You can’t blame us for thinking you might have purposely wished to avoid coming home.”
Adam tried to swallow his irritation along with the first sip of lovely brandy. “Yes, mother. I was well aware of what you might think. However, even someone of my prodigious talents could not have arranged things quite so perfectly that snow would disable my phaeton in the middle of nowhere.”
“You should not have been traveling in your phaeton to begin with, in this weather.”
“Well, somehow I did not magically have knowledge that it was going to snow. I assure you I did not dig the rut, nor place the rock, that broke my wheel. I was quite intent on taking Christopher home.”
He took a longer draught of his brandy, savoring the path of warmth it traced through him, and attempted to gentle his tone. None of this was his mother’s fault, despite how much she irritated him.
“We were very fortunate to find the village. I thought Christopher had the greater need to get home, given that his father has been ill, so I sent him on his way. There was no other transport available for me.”
“I see.”
When his mother said that, it usually meant she didn’t see at all, or she didn’t believe. He waited, but she didn’t utter another word.
“I am sorry I missed Christmas.”
“Well, you are here now.”
“I assume my sister is well?”
“Yes, she is entertaining our guests while we spend this time with you. We must return to them. I assume the kitchen already knows to add a place for you at dinner, since you came in that way. Go clean up as best you can–dinner will be in about an hour.”
Not time enough for a warm bath, for which he would have paid a king’s ransom, but the staff and the kitchen were too busy now, anyway. A pitcher of warm water might be possible, and help from his father’s valet. “Father, may I borrow Craddock to assist me?”
“Yes, I’ll send for him to join you in your chamber. Welcome home, Adam. But know that we will make a time to discuss what happened with Miss Bettencourt in London.”
There would be no escaping that. He nodded. “Yes, father, I know.”
He took his mother’s spot in front of the fire as his parents left the room. Would all of their guests be aware of the scandal Adam had left behind in London? A broken engagement was news that traveled quickly. The brandy and the warm glow from the fireplace banished the rest of the chill from his body, but could not touch the chill in his heart.
He closed his eyes, wishing himself back in Little Macclow, where no one truly knew him. Had the villagers followed the Lord of Misrule’s bidding without his presence there today? How had Miss Tamworth spent her day? Life had seemed so simple there, except for a kiss shared under the mistletoe.
After a mostly sound and blissfully toasty sleep under a pile of quilts in his own old bed, Adam sat at the Blakehill breakfast room table alone the next morning. He knew he had dreamed about Miss Tamworth, but his exhaustion had dimmed any awareness of the details. It surprised him that he had slept so well, considering the long discussion he and his parents had engaged in just before retiring for the night.
He had bitten his tongue and simply listened as they harangued him and repeated all the statements they had already made in letters fired off to London when the news of his disgrace had reached them.
“You have ruined the friendship between our family and the Bettencourts, and made a disgrace of our name, Adam. All of your earlier scandals were nothing when compared with this. How could you do this to us? To your sister? You could ruin her chances of making a good match as well as ruining your own. You will make us social pariahs.”
His father was more concerned with honor than society. “I am deeply disappointed in you, Adam. How could you allow us to arrange the match with Miss Bettencourt when you were already involved with another woman? The deception is beyond belief.”
He’d let it all wash over him like waves from the ocean. He had expected this. Breaking an engagement was among the worst kinds of scandal, and they believed he had done more than that.
He had not tried to reason with them, explain or make excuses. He only offered apologies. Many apologies. That had not appeased them. They wanted more from him.
At least dinner and the evening of music and games had been bearable. No one had made any references to London–in fact the guests seemed to avoid any topic that might be construed as related to Adam or what he had done. Awkward, yet he had appreciated their effort. Didn’t their behavior prove all acceptability was not lost?
Staring out now through frosted window panes at snow cover that stubbornly remained, he wondered what Miss Tamworth was doing at this moment. It was still damnably cold outside. All he could think about this morning was returning to her and to Little Macclow, but it would be a long, frigid ride. He used his fork to push a kipper around on his plate, but never actually ate it. The swish of skirts at the door alerted him to his sister Emma’s arrival.
She stood in the doorway looking so mature, her long blonde hair pulled back from her face and piled in curls on the top of her head, her pale pink dress fashionably cut. He had noticed last night that she looked slimmer, remarkably more like a woman and less like a young girl, than when he had last been home. How did that change happen so quickly?
“The purpose of breakfast for most people, dear brother, is to break their fast–in other words, to eat their food, not just play with it.” Clearly she had not outgrown her delight in teasing him.
He grinned. “And when, dear sister, did I ever aspire to behave the same as most people?”
She laughed. “Ah, Adam, that is the very thing our parents have never understood about you.” Her face lit up when she was amused, and he loved to see it. He rose from his chair and went over to her, taking her hand and kissing it. “I have missed you, Emma.”
She twirled away from him and advanced toward the sideboard where the array of breakfast offerings scented the room. “If you missed me so much, you should have come home to visit. It’s not as if I could just come to London to see you if I had wanted to.”
“IF you had wanted to?” It was his turn to give a hoot of laughter. “If? And now I suppose you are going to tell me that you didn’t miss me even a tiny bit.”
He joined her at the sideboard and by gestures offered to load a plate for her.
Emma gave him a dismissive look. “Clearly you have no idea where you are, you poor fellow. Things with you are worse than I supposed.” She took the plate from his hand and began to select her own food. “I am not helpless. Don’t use your London manners with me.”
“Fine. Stop me from playing the gentleman, then. Ever the independent, sister. How will you ever catch a man?” Adam nudged her arm playfully to take away any sting in his teasing. “I know you would love to come to London. Your chance will come–all too soon! The poor city will never be the same.”
She carried her plate to the table and took a seat across from where he had been sitting. Once he had resumed his own seat, she looked into his face with an earnest expression. “Seriously, Adam. While we are alone and none of the guests have come down yet, please talk to me. You were closeted with Mother and Father for what seemed like hours late last night. I know it was about the new scandal–the dissolution of your marriage plans with Miss Bettencourt.”
So, even Emma knew, or thought she did. Whatever happened to protecting young women from knowing about unsavory happenings around them? He rolled his eyes. “Huh. Dissolution is a good word for it.”
She reached a hand across the table towards him in a gesture of sympathy. “Adam, I don’t believe a word of what I’ve heard, even if Mother and Father do. Even if you are allowing them to, or want them to for some perverse reason of your own. Tell me the true story, for I know you better than anyone in the entire world. Secret betrothal, other woman, my foot. That is not the brother I know. You’ve set everyone on their ears, at a great cost to yourself. You did it so Louisa could break off the engagement, didn’t you?”
When had his sister become so perceptive? He looked out of the windows again, where the weak daylight lit the frosted panes. He grimaced, then nodded. “You can’t tell anyone, Emma.”
“Did you plan it together, or were you just ready to play the martyr? I want to understand, even if it has to be a secret.”
He sighed. He really just wanted to put this behind him. But Emma would not let go until he told her everything, and his parents were not willing to simply let time fade the scandal.
“Steps must be taken to restore our family’s honor,” as his mother had put it. She had gone on to explain that the best remedy to silence the gossip would be marriage–his–as soon as possible. Louisa Bettencourt’s new betrothal had already been announced.
He glanced toward the room’s open doorway and listened for any telltale footsteps in the passage beyond. No one was coming, yet.
“Louisa and I were never going to make a good match,” he said quietly. “We weren’t suited, but more than that, she was in love with someone else. Someone her parents wouldn’t approve of as long as they thought they could hook me for her instead.” He turned back to look at his sister. Did Emma begin to understand?
She stared at him intently, as if trying to read his mind. He went back to pushing the lone kipper around on his plate. It was cold and unappetizing now, rather like his future prospects.
“Neither one of us wanted to be stuck in a marriage to each other,” he continued. “I’m no martyr, Emma. As the man, it was necessary that I shoulder the sting of the scandal, but at least I am free. We concocted the whole story, yes. There was no other woman in my life, no other betrothal in place. But saying so gave Louisa what she needed. As we hoped, once I was no longer a suitable candidate for her hand, her parents gave in and she has quickly become engaged to her true love. A happy ending for one of us, at least.”
He must have sounded as miserable as he felt, for his sister jumped up from her seat and came to put her arms around him. “Adam, it’s so unfair. You deserve a happy ending, too. What you did was noble and unselfish.”
“I cannot agree with you on that. It allowed me to escape the parson’s noose. It was perfectly self-serving, make no mistake. I am no hero, Emma.”
“Why can you not simply tell Mother and Father the whole story?”
“Do you really believe that would sit better with them? To learn that I purposely sabotaged the wedding arrangements between the Bettencourts and our family? They attempted to be civil speaking with me, but I could tell underneath they were livid. It’s still a broken engagement, either way.”
“Well, right now they believe that you dishonorably became betrothed to Miss Bettencourt while already betrothed to some other woman they didn’t even know existed, causing a huge scandal when Miss Bettencourt found out. Not to mention a huge rift between the two families.”
“Louisa and I both believed that nothing less would serve to free us.”
“But now you are not free, are you?”
“No.” Resting his elbows quite improperly upon the table, he put his head into his hands. “Since there was no other woman, we put it about that she cried off as well when she learned about my Bettencourt betrothal. That’s believable, is it not? I thought we could just wait for the scandal to fade. But Mother and Father are insisting that I have made them social pariahs.
“Look around, sister mine. Does it seem that way to you? We have a houseful of guests! But they claim the scandal will reflect on you as well as them, will make it harder for you to find a husband, and that the only remedy to restore respectability and honor to our family is for me to marry. Quickly! Apparently to prove I am not poison to eligible women.”
Emma stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, wondering if the anguish in his heart and soul showed on his face. “Mother wants me to choose someone to wed the night we hold the New Year Ball. As if it were that simple. When I explained how unfair that would be to whomever I might pick, she agreed we could be allowed a few weeks to court and get to know one another. A few weeks!”
He shook his head. “I might have been better off marrying Louisa. At least we got on as friends. But then she would not have had her happy ending.”
Emma squeezed his shoulder and then began to pace back and forth behind his chair. “It does seem hasty and hardly fair. I will help you, Adam. The guest list for the ball is huge. I will cull through it and try to learn what I can about the eligible ladies. Surely there is someone among them who might suit? We can talk about them and try to winnow down the possibilities. You don’t know–you might meet your own true love, and be glad all of this happened!”
Adam highly doubted that. “We won’t be able to discuss them, Emma. Between now and the ball, I have to return to Little Macclow, the village where I spent Christmas.”
“Yes, I know. Your carriage and your prized horses are still there. I have noticed you seem quite eager to return.” She stopped pacing and gave him a most peculiar, questioning look. “There’s more to that story, too, isn’t there, Adam?”
He rolled his eyes. “Is it that obvious?”
She came over and sank onto the chair beside him. “Yes. At least it is to me. What happened there?”
Adam had already told his parents an edited version of what had occurred in the village, and how he had quite inadvertently become the Lord of Misrule for the season of Christmastide. They did not seem to understand his need to fulfill his duties, but as he gave the same story to his sister, she seemed to grasp his sense of responsibility.
“Why is this so difficult for Mother and Father to understand, when you seem to see it readily enough, Em? It is important to me not to let these people down.”
“Adam, you know that our parents have a very set idea of who you are, when they hardly know your true nature at all. They have always been so blinded by the loss of Richard. Neither of us can ever measure up to the false image of him that their grief has cast in stone. Does it sound uncharitable for me to say it is easy to be perfect when you are no longer engaged in the affairs of the living?”
“No, for it is the truth.” He sighed. “Mother always interprets my actions–whatever they may be–in the most negative light.”
“Ah, but that is not entirely her fault, you must admit. I may be younger than you and Richard, but even I saw that you often acted out in opposition to whatever he was doing. Even when it was for a good reason, you always allowed her unfavorable view to ride. I think you used to revel in your badness.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Something has changed. Tell me what else happened in Little Macclow, Adam.”
Leave it to Emma to notice. Sometimes he thought his sister knew him better than he knew himself. He had felt the change coming over him during the short time he was in the village, but he hadn’t been sure of it. He didn’t understand it, and was quite sure if he suggested something magical had happened to him, his sister would scoff. He had failed completely to convince Christopher of it. Yet he had been feeling pulled back to Little Macclow almost from the moment he’d left. And in his deepest heart, he knew it wasn’t just the village that called to him, but Miss Tamworth. Even here at Blakehill, he had not been able to put her out of his mind.
“The truth is, I met someone there.”
“As in, you had planned this meet-up in advance? The stranding was a ruse?”
He sighed. “Now you sound like Mother. No, Em. While there I struck up an acquaintance with the vicar’s daughter who is a schoolteacher there. There is something special about her.”
Emma jumped up from her chair and quickly hugged him. “Oh, Adam. That explains so much!”
“Does it?”
“Of course it does, silly. You have seemed distracted and distant. No wonder you are eager to go back and fulfill your duties. It’s not only about keeping your promise to the village–you don’t want to disappoint her in particular. Can you say I am not right?”
He shrugged and shook his head despairingly.
“What is her name? Tell me what she is like. I want to know all about her. I have never seen you like this before.”
“Pesky sister! What is the point? I’m not certain Miss Tamworth likes me even a little bit, and that’s probably for the best, since there is no way anything could come out of a friendship.”
“How do you know that? What do you know of her family? Anything?”
“I believe Miss Tamworth’s mother died when she was quite young. For better or worse, her father has raised her, with all of his attitudes, which do not favor the aristocracy. She is very close to the Squire and Lady Anne whom I mentioned to you, fortunately. Lady Anne has been almost a mother to her, I suspect.”
“Oh!” Emma jumped up, clapping her hands. “Oh, I have the most brilliant idea!”
Adam fought the urge to cover his eyes and duck under the table. “Do I dare to hear what it is?”
She punched him playfully on the shoulder, most definitely not ladylike behavior. Perhaps she was not quite ready for a London season yet. “You will see it is brilliant. We should invite the Squire and Lady Anne to our ball, and Miss Tamworth to come with them. After all, should we not make some gesture of gratitude for their kindness to you? Do you think the vicar would also come if we included him?”
Adam snorted. “I am very certain he would not. Where I may be uncertain about Miss Tamworth’s esteem, I know without any doubt that her father hates me. He hates everyone of our station.”
“Surely not Lady Anne?”
“No, but Squire Hammon is merely gentry. Lady Anne seems quite content having stepped down from our world.”
“Well, if Miss Tamworth comes, you will have a very good opportunity to learn her feelings toward you, and you will also see how she fits in our world, or doesn’t. That is a shame about her father, but I still say this plan is brilliant.”
“You are forgetting the small detail that Mother knows nothing of my meeting Miss Tamworth, and Mother is in charge of the guest list.”
“You will have to allow me to tell her. I can make her see the merit in this idea. If she sees we have an obligation, she will go along. And since you are returning to Little Macclow as soon as possible, you can extend the invitation to our guests personally.”
Adam rubbed both hands through his hair, disturbing what had been a neatly combed arrangement. “I confess I have mixed feelings about this, Em. I admit I would like to see Miss Tamworth in such fine surroundings. But even if she doesn’t refuse, it could all still go wrong.”
The freezing fog rolled in just a few hours later, blanketing the countryside with frozen air not safe to breathe. Animals had to be brought into shelter and travel was out of the question. In Little Macclow, virtually all activity ground to a halt whether it was normal daily tasks or Lord-of-Misrule-mandated mischief.
“I have never seen anything like this before, Father, have you?” Cassie stood by the parlor window looking out at the thick grayness. She had sent all the children home from class and now could not even see the gate at the top of the path. But fog was not so unusual. The alarming fact that this consisted of ice crystals tiny enough to inhale and cause suffocation was unheard of in her experience.
“Dangerous stuff,” her father said. “I am praying that no one will be caught out in it.”
Lord Forthhurst. Earlier she had been hoping for his return, despite her best judgment, and wondering if he would actually come. But now she added her prayer to her father’s, hoping the Lord of Misrule had not started back today.
Her head and her heart were so seriously confused, she hardly knew what she wanted. But she did know one thing clearly. She needed to speak with her father about Mr. Pratt. She had already managed to postpone the discussion for an entire day by keeping very busy.
“My prayer as well.” Turning from the window, she said “Father, since we are confined to the house and I’ve no children to teach, might we take a few minutes to talk? If you have time? There is a matter of some importance that I need to discuss with you.”
“I will make time, my dear, for you. Shall we ask Mrs. Gulliver to send up some tea to my study where we can be comfortable?”
Cassie nodded, suddenly choking with apprehension about the things she needed to say. Her father was being so kind, so accommodating. He loved her. And she feared she was about to disappoint him deeply.
She followed him into the study where they spent so much of their time.
“Here, Cassie, take the wingback chair where it’s warm by the fire.” Her father settled himself behind his handsome cherrywood desk. The room was not large, and most of the walls sported bookcases filled with religious tracts, treatises on science and history books. “Are you sad that you couldn’t have class for the children today? Or are you glad for the chance to rest? Sunday was tremendously busy with all the St. Stephen’s Day activity, and yesterday you had little chance to slow down.”
Cassie laced her fingers together in her lap. “I miss the children, yet I admit I am tired today. So, perhaps it is a little of both.”
“Thank you, as always, for all of your help on Sunday. I swear the number of gift baskets grows greater every year. So much need! I do wonder if it is this way everywhere, or just in our village?”
Cassie knew he didn’t expect an answer. He was lost in thought for a moment, but almost immediately came back to the present. He looked straight at her. “I don’t know what I would do without you, my dear.”
That sounded as if he had been thinking about doing without her. Did he have an inkling of what she wanted to discuss? Had Mr. Pratt had already spoken with him? The curate had not said so, but perhaps he hadn’t felt he needed to.
She smiled and attempted a light-hearted tone she didn’t feel in the least. “Is it not a blessing, then, that I am right here?”
If her father had already agreed to the betrothal, would she be able to change his mind? She clasped her hands tighter, turning her knuckles white.
“What is it you wanted to discuss, Cassie?”
There was nothing for it but to plunge right in. “Mr Pratt managed to catch me briefly for a private conversation on Sunday,” she began, choosing her words carefully. She watched her father’s face for any hint of fore-knowledge, but saw no change. Just her same-as-ever father, eyes interested and kind, expression serious but attentive. One bushy white eyebrow went up just the slightest bit as she failed to follow her remark with more words.
She sighed. “It may or may not come as a surprise to you, but he asked me to marry him. I admit I was quite unprepared to deal with his question.”
Her father shifted in his chair. “Ah. I suspected the wind was blowing in that direction with him. Did you give him an answer?”
“No, I did not. I asked him to give me some time to consider it, and to speak with you.”
“That was wise, my dear. Do you think the marriage would be a bad idea?”
“Do you?”
She could see him weighing what to say. Finally he rose from his chair and began to pace in the space beside his desk, his hands clasped behind him. “It is extremely helpful for a clergyman to have a wife, a helpmate who can ease and share the burdens of a life of service. When Our Lord took your mother from me, I was lost at first. And yet, He had given me you, and you showed a great talent for service and ministry from an early age, Cassie.”
He had been staring at his feet as he paced, but now he looked up at her. “You would make a splendid wife for a clergyman like Mr. Pratt. He may be only a curate now, but he is ambitious and I have no doubt he will be awarded livings and advancement as his career blooms.”
Her heart sank. It sounded as though her father did indeed support the curate’s suit. Her doubts must have shown on her face, for he continued, “Understand, my dear, that he is willing to do what is needed to earn those rewards, where I was not. That is one thing I can promise you.”
He turned away then and faced the grayness outside the window, as if somehow it masked the future. Small icy trails of frozen fog slid down the leaded window panes. “I think it is inevitable that you will marry and leave this house. You have grown into an accomplished and beautiful young woman–so much like your mother sometimes that it almost stops my heart. And yet, who will you wed? Who can you meet, living here with me in such a small place? Your mother and I were most fortunate that we not only met, but also fell in love. Love is a bond that can carry a man and wife through unimaginable difficulties.”
He turned back to her again. “Not everyone can have the luxury of love. Of course I would wish it for you, Cassie. But I would not wish to see you left a spinster because you waited to find it.”
What if she found it but could not have it?
“Are you saying that you think I should say yes to Mr. Pratt, Father? Rather than risk never marrying at all?”
“I suppose I am. Should I have more faith? I am in the faith business, after all, but there have been many times when I have faltered.”
“We are all only human, and God knows that.” She looked down at her hands, clasped so tightly her fingers were white. “I understand what you are saying, and it is very reasonable. I just don’t think I can do it.” She was afraid to look at her father’s face.
“The wealthy have their own ways,” he said. “The young women meet the eligible young men through parties and balls and family connections. Believe me when I say that many of those alliances are not founded upon love–far fewer, in truth, than those among our own station. Your mother had all that and yet she gave it up to marry me.
“Here in our village, there’s nothing like that. I worry what will become of you, Cassie, when I am gone. We have our assemblies, but all of the eligible bachelors here, save Mr. Pratt, are too old to make a good husband for you, or too poor to support you in a respectable life. The rest are gone to war. Who will provide for you?”
“I am not on the shelf yet, Father. What if I were to go out into the world? Outside of Little Macclow there could be many opportunities. What if I took a job teaching at a girls’ academy? Thanks to Lady Anne, I have suitable accomplishments, and thanks to both you and her, I am well educated.”
He shook his head, “What sort of opportunities do you think that would bring you? You would only meet the families of the students.”
“Yes, and someone might have a widowed father, or an older brother…and I might meet the families of the other teachers, and who knows who might be among them?”
Her father’s shoulders sagged. “And how many of the other teachers might be competing with you to attract these same men? Not that I doubt you would outshine them all, my dear.”
He had stopped pacing and stood by the corner of the desk.
“Oh, Father.” She got up and went to hug him. “I worry about what would become of you should I venture out of Little Macclow. Who would help you with all of the things that I do now? Even if I were to marry Mr. Pratt, that would remove me from your side.”
“To secure your future would be worth the sacrifice to me, my dear. It is necessary.”
She stepped back and looked up into his face. “I am afraid I would also be sacrificing something precious, Father–my hope and my happiness–were I to marry him. I do not love him, nor do I believe he loves me. He admires my efficiency and helpfulness. I fear that I would be little more than a servant in his household. Not a true mate, a wife.”
“You would have a roof over your head and food on your table. You would be the mistress of his household, and have the respect due to the wife of a clergyman. Your days would be spent much as they are now, visiting the sick and the poor, helping those who are unfortunate. Perhaps you could still teach. Would it be so terrible?”
Would it? Was he right? If she refused the curate’s offer, would she regret it in the future? If only there was some way to know, to see into the years ahead.
“Cassie, you said he admires you. I believe that is true. Many strong unions have been built on less.”
“I know.” But her heart craved more, knew there could be more. How would she face a lifetime of evenings shared with David Pratt, who offered admiration instead of love? Wouldn’t that admiration fade when he came to know her better? He thought of her as submissive. Could she spend a lifetime pretending to be something she was not?
Her father put a finger under her chin and smiled. “I know it is not an easy decision when you are not in love. You were right to ask him to give you some thinking time.”
She knew her first answer to Mr. Pratt would be asking for even more time.
By late morning the next day, the freezing fog had softened with rising temperatures. At Blakehill, Adam sent word to the stables to ready his gelding Jupiter and the little mare from Christopher’s stable.
“I wish you would not go today, Adam,” his mother said, her arms held rigid at her sides. “Must you be so willful? It is foolish. Dangerous. The fog may turn back to ice as soon as the temperature dips, and who knows how soon that may be?”
“Please, Adam, I agree.” Emma sided with his mother. “It is very risky to go out even in this fog without the ice. You can hardly see two paces in front of you! Why can you not wait another day?”
“Who can say if tomorrow will be any better?” he replied. “What if the freezing fog returns and there is not another warming period? I will be careful, and I will only go as far as I am able to go safely. I have no desire to break my neck or suffocate on frost, despite what you may think.”
His mother sighed. “Do you have the ball invitations I wrote out for the Hammons and Miss Tamworth?”
“Yes, of course I do. And that is another reason I should not delay.”
Emma had apparently made a good case on his behalf in convincing his mother to invite the strangers from Little Macclow. The distance was far enough that they would stay overnight at Blakehill after the ball ended. He would have time to consider why his mother had agreed quite so easily during the long, cold ride ahead of him.
“Please give my best to Christopher’s parents at Hazelton when you stop there.”
“Yes, mother, I will.”
She paused, then lifted her chin before speaking her next words. “Just how will we know if you arrive in that village safely, Adam? In this weather I do not see how you can send back a messenger.”
“For once in my life, mother, I believe you will have to trust me. If you hear nothing, assume I am well, and that I will return in time for the New Year’s Ball. I will bring our new guests with me. If something untoward should occur, I am quite certain you will receive word in some way.”
The first leg of his journey, to Christopher’s, was cold and wet, but bearable. He warmed himself after returning the little mare to the Hazelton stables, and endured a lecture from Christopher about all of the reasons why he should not return to Little Macclow. The inhospitable weather was the least of them.
“It is not as if I was unaware of these arguments, Christopher,” he had countered. “I had all of yesterday trapped at home to ponder them at length. Not to mention all of my mother’s pressure attempting to keep me at home under her purview. You ought to see my side of this. Everyone is so certain that whatever I do next will bring about more scandal. Why can’t you see that if I fail to return to the village and carry out my promises, that in itself would be a scandal? You all seem to think that it only matters when played out on a larger stage.”
“Yes, for instance all of London.” Christopher had cut in.
“Well, I want to say that it has more to do with moral character and how it damages the souls of those involved. I want you to know, my friend, that I have done nothing that I regret, and nothing so wrong as all of you suppose.”
Even Christopher did not know the truth Adam had confessed to Emma.
“But I tell you, if I do not return to Little Macclow, I will then truly become the villain you all think me to be.”
“No less than the villain you have for years pretended to be, Adam, “Christopher said. “You must allow me my doubts. But at the same time, I don’t wish to see your heart broken, nor Miss Tamworth’s, either.”
“I appreciate that.”
Adam had set off again in the fog not long afterwards, wrapped once more in an oilskin coat layered over his greatcoat. His long scarf was wound several times around his neck and face so his nose was covered, and he wore his low-crowned slouch hat pulled down low.
Unrecognizable but protected from the elements as best could be, he made his way toward Little Macclow, hoping the temperatures would not drop below freezing while he was between villages in the middle of nowhere. He had brought along a nose bag to protect Jupiter if needed. He thought if they could reach Little Macclow before the late afternoon, they might be safe. Assuming he was able to find Little Macclow.
He had scoffed when Christopher had raised that particular question, but in truth he was concerned. What if the villagers had not yet put up the new signpost? Without it, would he be able to recognize the little turnoff road in the fog? Would he even see the turnoff road?
He peered ahead, trying to make out the lay of the main road he was following. Most of the time he was forced to keep his horse at a walk, for the visibility was that bad. It would take hours to reach the village at this rate, especially with stops to rest his horse and warm himself along the way. Yet he persevered, determined to sleep in the village this night. Even if Miss Tamworth did not learn he had returned until tomorrow, he would find peace being near her again.
He pictured her face for the thousandth time, and imagined her reaction when he invited her to the ball at Blakehill. She would refuse, most certainly. Her father would be against it. But the Hammons were another story, and he was counting on them to override her father’s objections and persuade her to go with them. Unless there were New Year traditions celebrated in Little Macclow that would keep them from traveling? That was a hitch he had no way of predicting.
The cold and wet made Adam stop at almost every inn or tavern he came across on his route, since he was not certain enough of where the next ones would be. Three hours after he had left Christopher’s, the fog began to turn back into ice and he was forced to take a room. So much for his goal of reaching Little Macclow before nightfall.
“Miserable weather for traveling, eh, governor?”
Adam had settled in the inn’s taproom once he had seen to his horse and deposited his bags in his room. The barman was friendly and the taproom nearly empty.
“It is indeed,” Adam replied. “I had hoped to reach my destination before the ice returned, but luck was not with me.”
“Well, ’twas lucky you found us and did not wind up stranded out there somewhere. ’Tis dangerous stuff, that ice-fog.”
“Indeed. I was very happy to see your lights.” Adam rubbed his cheek. “That stuff stings!” He took a deep draught from his mug of ale.
“Whither were you bound, if I might ask, sir?”
“Village of Little Macclow. Do you know it? I’ve no idea how much further I still need to go.”
The barkeep’s shaggy gray eyebrows lifted to a comical height. “Little Macclow? I say. Not many travel through there. It’s off the way.”
Adam sighed. “Yes, I’m aware. How far are we?”
“Oh, not above ten miles, I’d say, sir.”
Ten miles. Not a bad distance by horseback in normal conditions. So near, but under the current circumstances, that ten miles might as well have been ten thousand. What if tomorrow brought no let up in the freezing fog? If he lost another day stranded here in this inn, he would have to convince the Hammons and Miss Tamworth to come back with him to Blakehill and make the trip with them all in one day.
He held up his mug. “Here’s to making those ten miles tomorrow.”