At precisely eleven o’clock, the Lord of Misrule stepped out of the Four Feathers onto the uppermost of the ancient and worn stone entry steps that had been well-swept of ice particles and snow. Adjusting his rather loose hat, he surveyed the villagers assembled in the street before him, all well-bundled against the cold. He raised his half-staff, jingling its bells, and the chattering crowd fell silent. The clouds formed by their breath quickly dissipated.
“Good gentlefolk of Little Macclow, I want to apologize for my unavoidable absence, and for the fact I am about to be absent again. Family responsibilities call me away for an additional time, but in the meantime, I am here! The belated Christmas Assembly will be held tomorrow night. The boys’ street-ball race will be held on Sunday, weather permitting. Tonight I expect you all to welcome the new year in whatever ways you are accustomed to follow, and I wish everyone of you the best fortune in the new year! But today–ah, today. Let us take advantage of the clearing weather, despite the cold, and run some races, shall we?”
Cheering met this announcement. Adam went on to describe a relay race based on speed for the men and boys, and a tamer one for the women and girls requiring them to carry an egg on a spoon without dropping it. In the general hubbub that followed, Adam relinquished his staff and hat to Mr. Salsby.
“Will you please see to it that whoever is acting in my stead bears my appropriate symbols of office for the duration of their time? Even if it happens to be multiple people for very short periods! I confess we must not stay even as long as to oversee these races, but please make notes of who wins, who fails, and who does not take part. I will peruse the notes collected thus far whilst I am away, and will study the new notes when I get back. Twelfth Night creeps closer day-by-day and all forfeits will be charged, and paid.” He grinned.
The innkeeper touched his hat. “As you command, my Lord of Misrule. It shall be done.”
“Would you also remind the losing team from last Sunday’s street-ball race that there is still a signpost to be erected and a road repair to be made?”
“Indeed, that I will, sir.”
Adam ducked back inside the inn to retrieve his own hat and the bag he had hastily packed up in his room. Wrapping his scarf more securely around his throat, he returned to watch the villagers beginning to form their relay teams in the street. The carriage driven by Lady Anne and Squire Hammon’s coachman parted the crowd briefly as it arrived in front of the Four Feathers.
Lady Anne was laughing as Adam climbed into the closed vehicle, a serviceable black lacquered coach with bright red wheels. The yellow leather interior was welcoming. Warm bricks for the feet and wool blankets for each passenger would keep them all warm enough for a couple of hours, especially with stops along the way.
Lady Anne and the Squire were seated together, which left Adam the seat beside Miss Tamworth. He would not be able to easily watch the expressions cross her face or see what passed through her eyes as they conversed, but the proximity was agreeable. He tucked his bag in the corner against the upholstered sidewall.
“It appears you have done a most excellent job of creating chaos in the village today, my Lord of Misrule,” Lady Anne said between chuckles.
Miss Tamworth was more contained, but at least she favored him with a small smile as she turned to him. “What tasks did you give them today?”
Adam began to explain, pleased that his companions appeared entertained by his plans. As he did so, the coachman cracked his whip above the horses and they began to move.
Conversation about inconsequential topics flowed easily during the first stage of their journey. The snow and frost made the traveling slow, as he had expected, and they stopped at an inn to warm themselves after the first hour. Squire Hammon was very concerned that his coachman and his valet, who was also riding outside, should have time to thaw themselves before setting off again. However, before long the little group of travelers were fed, warmed, and ready to go on, with re-heated bricks at their feet.
“I thought I might share some of the notes that were left for the Lord of Misrule during my first absence,” Adam said after they had spent some few minutes in silence. He guessed that Lady Anne was growing tired after having led all the previous conversations. “You may be able to share some wisdom about the people who made the reports as well as those who have been named for forfeits. While it is all for fun, I still wish to be fair if possible.”
“That is a worthy sentiment, my lord,” Miss Tamworth said, risking a glance at him before she returned her gaze to the apparent fascination of her gloved hands in her lap. She seemed subdued, and he wondered if she was regretting her decision to come, or simply was uncomfortable sitting beside him. He could do nothing to rectify either of those concerns.
Lady Anne clapped her hands. “Oh, that is a wonderful idea! Please do share.”
He opened his bag and extracted a handful of notes, scratched on a variety of scraps and bits of paper. Paper was expensive, and he had not stopped to consider that aspect of the task when he had asked the literate villagers to do it. Looking at the notes now reminded him of the gap between his world and theirs, and of the heedless existence he had previously lived.
“All right,” he said, selecting one and unfolding it. “This is not signed, but perhaps we may divine who wrote it from what it says.” He quickly scanned the few lines on it and then read it aloud. “M’wife should pay a BIG forfeit! She didn’t neither walk backwards on walk-backwards day, nor sung a single word on sing-everything day. Need to put some fun into her! Me, I can prove I walked backwards in the fog that day. I crashed into Mrs. Stevens who was walking backwards, too.”
Adam held up the note and chuckled, looking at his companions. “That’s all he says. He doesn’t name his wife, so we will have a bit of research to do. Perhaps we should have given more explicit instructions! I must say I had thought the basics would be obvious.”
The Hammons and even Miss Tamworth laughed with him. “Let us hope not all of the notes are like that,” Miss Tamworth said. “This one will be easy enough to research, but time will be short if every report requires investigation.”
Adam chose another one. “Oh, well now, this one’s a list of names and transgressions. Quite thorough. It appears that most of the village has been deemed guilty of non-compliance and lacking in Christmas spirit by this person.”
“Very likely someone who served as Lord of Misrule in a past season,” Lady Anne said. “I take it that this one also isn’t signed? May I see the note?”
He handed it over to her and picked up another folded scrap.
“John Greenup, I’m quite certain,” she pronounced. “I see Squire and I are included on his list!”
“Is he correct in that you were seen to not follow my Lord of Misrule mandates?” Adam could not help smiling.
“Ahem.” Lady Anne cleared her throat–twice. “Certainly we were not seen by him. I would suggest that his whole list is suspect.”
“I imagine, given the weather, that it has been difficult for most people to participate during the last several days. I could show clemency, but where’s the fun in that? All the more entertainment if everyone in the village has forfeits to pay!”
Miss Tamworth laughed at that. The sound warmed him to his toes. “What does the next one say?” she asked.
He unfolded the note and observed the handwriting was more childish than the previous notes. “My father says to write that my mother should pay a forfeit of having to kiss our dog, because she pays it more attention than him.”
More laughter filled the coach. “I believe I know who wrote that,” Miss Tamworth said, leaning close to him to look at the note. “May I see the writing?”
Adam showed it to her and was sorry when she straightened up again. She nodded and chuckled. “Yes, that is young Charlie Beck. I hate to say so, but it is probably true.”
They all laughed at that. But Adam was also impressed. “Your young students provide a service to their parents by learning to read and write. That is very much to your credit, Miss Tamworth.”
“You are too kind. I cannot take all the credit however, for the school was proposed by my father and is supported by Lady Anne and Squire.”
“Admirable indeed. But you are the one who teaches. Allow me to pay you the compliment!”
“All right. Thank you.” She ducked her head quickly and went back to studying her gloves again. Despite how much her bonnet hid her from him, he thought he saw a faint blush of rose color rise into the small crescent of her cheek.
“Let us hear more of your notes, my lord.”
He wished they could do away with such formality between them. He smiled a little grimly and plucked another note out of the pile on his lap. “As you wish.”
After quickly scanning it, he passed it across to Lady Anne. “This one also isn’t the sort of thing I was looking for,” he noted with a chuckle. “Who could imagine I had opened a floodgate with this task?”
She read it eagerly. “Oh, my. Goodness me, no, that is not quite the thing. I’d no idea Mary Meadows would use this as an opportunity to spread gossip! I admit I’d also no idea that she could write so fluently, or so much.” She tore the note into pieces and handed them back. “I believe that is the best disposal for that information.”
He resumed reading notes as the coach continued on. Most of the notes reported who had participated in challenges, or who had failed, the sort of thing he had requested. One fellow wrote to turn himself in for not participating. Two farmers who were notorious rivals, according to Squire Hammon, had each nominated the other to be put in the Lord of Misrule’s pillory at Twelfth Night for not complying with holiday mandates.
“I’ll have a pillory?” Adam asked in astonishment.
“Oh, yes. ‘Tis an ancient tradition. You have a full range of forfeits at your command.”
Clearly he would have to give all of this a great deal of thought.
Squire had given the coachman leave to stop for the night whenever he and the valet were too cold to continue on. They arrived at The Red Hart while daylight still prevailed.
“We should be cozy enough here,” Adam told the others. He had stopped at the inn briefly during his torturous journey from Blakehill back to the village. “We’ll only have an hour or two more to travel tomorrow to reach Blakehill–especially if the weather continues to favor us without any more frost or snow.”
The inn, an ancient structure with a stone ground floor and a half-timbered upper story, boasted only a handful of rooms for guests.
“I can give you two bedchambers, with a small parlor between them,” the innkeeper told them. Generously rounded with a thick crop of white hair, he peered at them through a tiny pair of spectacles. “It’s all I have left.”
Lady Anne and her husband exchanged a glance. “Miss Tamworth and I will share one and you gentlemen will have to share the other,” she said quickly.
“As it is New Year’s Eve, we will be celebrating in the taproom,” their host added. “I hope you will feel welcome to join us, as you see fit.” He bowed, clearly impressed with the gentility of his new guests.
“Thank you. We will consider it,” Adam responded.
Arrangements were made for Squire’s valet to sleep on a pallet in the room the men were sharing, and the coachman would sleep in the stables. Lady Anne requested tea and some hot food to be brought up to the private parlor.
After settling into their respective rooms, the little party regrouped in the parlor to refresh themselves. A lively fire in the simple hearth gave welcome relief to the fingers and toes that were still chilled from traveling. Tea and fragrant gingerbread cakes still warm from the oven were laid out on a small table in front of the fire.
Lady Anne and the Squire took seats on the sofa upholstered in worn pale green satin, efficiently ensuring that Adam and Miss Tamworth had to sit in the separate matching chairs. Lady Anne was proving a very careful chaperone, to Adam’s chagrin. Despite the couple of hours he had just spent sitting beside Miss Tamworth in the traveling coach, he had hoped for another opportunity in warmer, more comfortable surroundings.
“Cassie, dear, would you pour, please?” Lady Anne asked.
He watched Miss Tamworth rise and perform the duty, just as he had the previous day when, half-frozen, he had arrived unannounced at the vicarage. Had her father softened towards him? Why had the man allowed his daughter to accept the ball invitation? Whatever expectations the vicar might have, Adam was resolved to make certain Miss Tamworth benefitted from the experience.
Her pale hands were long-fingered and graceful as she filled the cups and handed them around. She was well-trained in all the social arts–no doubt thanks to Lady Anne. She was beautiful and intelligent and would make someone a fine wife. Well, as long as her husband didn’t mind a wife who could be impudent and perhaps not exactly obedient. Those were qualities Adam liked in her. Life with her would never be dull. His heart ached, heavy with envy of the unknown someone who would prove a right match for her.
“Care for an augmentation?” Squire Hammon asked him, brandishing a flask he had produced from the deep pocket of his coat.
“Yes, please!” Adam didn’t care what kind of alcohol was in it. He needed to break out of his lowering mood. He held up his cup.
“Tell me, what would you all have been doing to celebrate the new year in Little Macclow if I had not spirited you away?” he said, introducing a new line of conversation.
“Oh, playing cards or charades, roasting chestnuts, singing or dancing, teasing each other with puzzles and riddles to try our brains,” said Lady Anne.
“Dining on plum puddings and mince pies. Listening for the peal of the bells to tell us the new year has begun,” the Squire added.
“We might have been entertaining any visitors in a similar manner,” Miss Tamworth said. She had resumed her seat and turned her unfathomable blue eyes on him. “I had considered asking you to be our midnight caller.”
“The old first-footer custom?” He knew no one who followed it. Mostly it was practiced up in the northern counties and Scotland. Still, he was flattered. The first person to step into a house after the stroke of midnight was supposed to bring luck and set the tone for a good and prosperous year. He doubted he was a likely candidate for any such thing. “I am honored, but why in heaven’s name would you ask me?”
“Oh, just because it is considered much luckier if the visitor is a handsome man.” She shrugged, her tone utterly off-handed.
He looked for any sign that she was flirting. Catching her eye, he tested her with a devilish grin. “Ah, so you admit that you find me handsome?”
Her frank, clear gaze seemed perfectly in earnest. “I needn’t admit it–I say so quite freely, Lord Forthhurst. It is simply a fact about you, one that must be obvious to anyone with eyes. Would you not agree, Lady Anne? I do try my best to be honest. The world would be so improved if everyone were so.”
Her last words stung a bit, as if she assumed he rarely practiced the habit. But had he given her any reason to think otherwise of him? No, he had not.
“In London the only people who dare to practice total honesty are the ancient dames who no longer care about the consequences of their words,” he said. “Unconstrained honesty can lead to disastrous consequences at times.”
Apparently that reply caused her a moment of perplexity. Her brow puckered in a most adorable way, and she blinked, twice. “Well, I did not say people should be tactless, or careless about other’s feelings. Honesty cushioned by tact and diplomacy would be best.”
He laughed. “Indeed. And how does one learn such a fine art, if not born to it naturally?”
She gave him a shrewd look. “Practice, my lord, practice.”
Lady Anne and Squire Hammon had remained quiet during this exchange, but now they laughed.
“Lord Forthhurst,” said Lady Anne, “is not practice the key to many types of arts? That includes social ones.”
“’Tis a shame you’ll not have the opportunity to be first-footer at the vicarage, Lord Forthhurst,” Squire said, rescuing him from having to respond. “The vicar serves a very tasty punch on New Year’s Eve that I suspect you would like. It has rendered many a visitor barely able to make his way home again after indulging.”
“That sounds quite wicked for a vicar. Indeed, I am sorry to forego both the honor and the pleasure.”
The little group remained in the cozy parlor, sharing conversations and eventually, after rearranging the furniture, settling in for a game of loo using cards the Squire had brought along. Seated across from Miss Tamworth, Adam admired both her concentration and her decisiveness.
However, her deft play revived questions that now continued to niggle at him. Was she playing at some other sort of game? Why had she agreed to come to the ball at Blakehill? Despite her physical response to him, she had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, wisely following advice he had himself given her. Resolved as he was to try to help her, he would be wise to learn her motives. He didn’t know how to accomplish that with Lady Anne and the Squire hovering over her so protectively.
The volume of noise from below gradually began to escalate during the evening hours. The young man who brought in their dinner of roasted mutton and potatoes was accompanied by the innkeeper. The portly fellow apologized for the noise.
“The celebrations are underway downstairs, beggin’ yer pardons. ’Tis a harmless crowd, just local folk who want to see out the old year in company and traveling guests such as yerselves.” He paused to shake his head. “’Twill only get louder as midnight comes closer–why not join in? ’Tis a mixed company, ladies included,” he added, nodding at Lady Anne and Cassie. “Come celebrate the new year with some songs and dancing!”
They thanked him and put their heads together after he and the server had left.
“Do you want to go down, my love?” Squire asked Lady Anne.
Cassie smiled at hearing his endearment. Squire and Lady Anne truly loved each other. What they had was special, something she hoped one day she would be lucky enough to find for herself. She cast a quick glance at Lord Forthhurst to see if he reacted, but she could not read the expression on his face. His glance met hers, and she quickly looked away.
If only he were less handsome! Everything would be so much easier. He drew her to him like the proverbial moth to a flame, or a steel to a magnet. The latter suggested the strength of his pull, but it was cold, lacking entirely the vivid energy and emotion Lord Forthhurst stirred in her. No, the former, with its suggestion of danger and even possible annihilation, suited far better.
Resisting that pull took great effort. Riding in the carriage beside him all afternoon, trying not to catch his eye, trying not to relax and lean against him or show her feelings in any way, had been exhausting. Only by keeping her gaze on her hands or on the scenery had she been able to keep herself from constantly looking at him. It had not helped that his gaze fell on her so much of that time.
Lady Anne squeezed her husband’s hand. “It does sound rather jolly, does it not? What do you think, Cassie? Lord Forthhurst? Shall we go down and join them, or stay up here listening to them make merry?”
“I’m not one to resist,” Lord Forthhurst said, grinning. “I’ll likely go down even if the rest of you choose to stay up here.”
At least he was honest about himself, judging by what little Cassie knew. Truly, a few days’ acquaintance was much too short a time for her to have developed feelings for him as strong as she had. Did not that make her the fool, rather than the Lord of Misrule? If he went down, certainly she ought to stay up here.
“Well, if Squire and I go down also, we cannot leave Cassie up here all alone,” Lady Anne reasoned, instantly dashing Cassie’s plan. “I think we should all go down and celebrate the new year’s arrival with everyone else.” She looked pointedly at Cassie and the viscount. “Did you bring new clothes to wear?”
“New clothes?” Lord Forthhurst tilted his head, looking bewildered. He clearly did not know much about country customs.
“Yes, to bring luck and prosperity in the new year.”
“I see. I’m afraid I did not bring any.” He sounded unconvinced.
“I did not have any to bring,” Cassie admitted.
“Well, I have a splendid idea how to fix that,” Lady Anne declared, her hands sweeping up into the air. “I shall loan Cassie one of my shawls, and Squire can loan Lord Forthhurst one of his cravats. The items will be new–to you, at least. I feel certain that will serve. Oh, do let us get ready, and then go down.”
Lady Anne and Cassie assisted each other with their preparations in the absence of a lady’s maid. A short while later they emerged into the private parlor where the gentlemen awaited them. Cassie could not help fingering the smooth Indian shawl draped over her arms and shoulders. Dark green, embroidered with cream, brown and gilt thread motifs of flowers and paisleys along the edges and the deep borders at the fringed ends, it went beautifully with Cassie’s cream muslin dress that was embellished with red and green embroidery.
“I still cannot believe you don’t want to wear this shawl yourself, Lady Anne. It is so soft and so lovely!”
“But not new to me, my dear. Do you not think my new red Norwich shawl is worthy of admiration?” She preened just a little.
“I do,” said Lord Forthhurst said, rising from his chair. “Both of you ladies look utterly captivating.” His eyes were warm and his smile seemed genuine. Still, Cassie thought compliments must trip easily off his tongue. He undoubtedly had a great deal of practice with that.
Squire Hammon was only a moment slower to follow suit. He moved directly to his wife and took her hand. “Charming, as always, my dove.” He kissed her knuckles and raised his head again to look at Cassie. “And you are a vision, Cassie.”
“The unsuspecting folks below may just be overwhelmed,” Lord Forthhurst added.
“Oh, pouring it on a bit thick, I think, both of you!” Cassie could feel the tingle of color starting in her cheeks. She waved her hand a bit imperiously towards the door. “Please, if we are going down, may we not simply go?”
Lord Forthhurst nodded. “I do feel a rather prodigious thirst coming on.”
They filed into the passageway, and as they navigated the narrow space towards the stairs, the lively sound of a fiddle wafted up towards them. Laughter and the general hum of conversation accompanied it.
Where there was music, there was likely to be dancing, as the innkeeper had suggested. Cassie could sense both the anticipation rising in her breast and the protest forming in her mind. She remembered all too vividly what had happened the last time she had danced with Lord Forthhurst. As their little group descended the stairs to the ground floor, she resolved to claim fatigue and refuse to join in the dancing.
The crowd was lively but not huge, which was fortunate since the small inn’s taproom could not have accommodated a larger gathering. With walls half-paneled in dark wood and heavy beams overhead, the room featured a large stone hearth at the far end and an assortment of tables in varying sizes, a few covered with white cloths (or what had once been white), but most were bare. Space had been cleared in the center of the room, where five couples frolicked through the figures of a spritely country dance. An empty table beckoned from the far corner.
Cassie walked ahead of Lord Forthhurst, following Lady Anne and Squire as they threaded their way towards the table. Anticipating them, a serving girl scurried ahead to dress the bare table with a cloth. Cassie kept her gaze fixed on their destination, sensing the curious looks of the local patrons. No doubt the people were as harmless as any similar group of celebrants in Little Macclow would have been, yet she felt self-conscious and grateful for the viscount’s protective presence behind her.
Before they reached the table, Lord Forthhurst touched her shoulder. “Miss Tamworth, would you care to take a place in the dance with me? An additional couple in the set might smooth out the awkward wait when the pattern repeats.”
Clearly he had been paying much more attention to their surroundings, including the dancers, than she had.
“I am sorry, my lord. I am fatigued from our travel and do not wish to dance,” she said, shaking her head, her resolve firm. She would not, not to please him, not even to help out the other dancers. She could not risk betraying her attraction. She wouldn’t turn her head to gauge his reaction.
“I’m sorry our journey so fatigued you. Certainly in that case ’tis better if we simply sit and watch.”
Oh, Lord. That was not quite what she had in mind either. Could he not find someone else to dance with? In such a setting as this, must formality still rule? When she reached her seat, she collapsed into the chair gratefully and cast an assessing eye over the room.
Lord Forthhurst took the chair beside her. “Well, here we are, then,” he said. He raised an eyebrow, casting an expectant look in her direction no doubt intended to needle her. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. How could he be so appealing while at the same time so maddening?
The young serving girl had hardly taken their orders and departed before Lady Anne and Squire Hammon were up again. The dancing couples stood ready to start a new country dance as the fiddler played the beginning of the tune. “Oh, it’s Come Ye Hither,” Lady Anne said. “They need another couple in the set. If you two are not inclined…?”
Cassie shook her head again, and Lady Anne and the Squire headed off to fill the need.
Lord Forthhurst looked at her, a peculiar light dancing in his green eyes. “They are apparently not as fatigued as you, Miss Tamworth. Or is it simply that you wish to avoid dancing with me?”
The dratted blush started to tingle in her cheeks. “After what happened the last time we danced, would you blame me if that were the case?”
“Why, I found dancing with you most pleasurable, as I think you may recall.”
Now he was openly teasing her, his eyes dancing every bit as much as the people in the center of the room. How was she supposed to resist when the warmth in his gaze and his devilish grin set off an answering warmth within her? And yet he was infuriating.
She spoke sharply. “You may recall that our dancing ended in near-disaster. I think a repeat should be avoided at all costs.”
“Ah, so you are avoiding dancing with me. Why not be honest about it? I did think we kept our journeying brief enough to avoid being too fatigued.”
He had trapped her with her own words. When would she learn not to spar with him? His wit was so much faster than hers.
“Do you plan to avoid dancing with me tomorrow night at the ball as well? That could prove awkward.”
“I think not. I imagine there will be a multitude of fine ladies all vying for your attention. No one will notice if I do not dance with you.”
He laughed. “But everyone will notice if I ask you and you refuse.”
He was right. She sighed. “Suppose I ask you not to ask me?”
His grin couldn’t have been broader. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly agree to that. I am the son of the hosts. It would be unspeakably rude.”
He had caught her in a bind. Isn’t that what devils did? Surely she could survive one dance with him, could keep her response to him in check. At his parents’ ball he wouldn’t have the opportunity to misbehave as he had at the Hammons’ Christmas Ball.
“That is tomorrow. Tonight I’ve no requirement to dance with you, and I shall not.” She folded her arms.
“As you wish. I’ve no need to dance tonight. I dare say the New Year will come in at midnight whether we dance or not. But tell me, then, why did you choose to accept the invitation to my parents’ ball, if you are set against dancing there?”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’m sorry, did I mistake? I had assumed there would be other gentlemen there with whom I might actually wish to dance.”
“Ah! I am cut to the quick!” He languished back in his chair, throwing his arms out dramatically. “I am wounded, I tell you.” But the look in his eyes suggested she might truly have hurt him.
She dared not allow herself to care. “I believe you will recover, my lord.”
He sobered, his smile turning a little sad. Behind him, the dancers’ frolicking feet pounded a rhythm to accompany the fiddler’s tune. Someone at a table began to clap with the music, slightly off the beat.
He straightened up in his chair and then leaned in towards her. “I truly would like to know why you wish to attend the ball. I was astonished that your father did not forbid it. I had asked Lady Anne to intervene on your behalf, I was that certain he would.”
“Perhaps he anticipated the arguments she would have made. He has heard them before. But this time…well, let us just say that this time there is a new circumstance that may have spurred my interest and influenced his agreement.”
The serving girl returned with their drinks on a tray. Tankards of ale for the two men and ratafia for the ladies, served in china mugs as apparently the kitchen had run out of glassware. Cassie gratefully accepted hers and inhaled the heady scent of brandy and fruits before taking a sip.
Lord Forthhurst waited for the girl to leave. He spoke before sampling his ale. “You are very circumspect. Will you not satisfy my curiosity?”
Should she tell him? What business was it of his? “If you tell me why you were so sharp-set to have me attend the ball.”
He shrugged. “I thought it might offer you an improving experience, an opportunity.”
“For?”
“To meet some better people.”
That rankled. How dare he? “Better than the people I live among in Little Macclow? I daresay there are no finer on the whole of the planet. I thought you might have seen that during the short time you were there. But of course, you were there such a very short time.” She started to rise from her chair.
He reached over and put his hand on her arm. “Don’t take umbrage, Miss Tamworth. Please sit. That is not what I meant. You force me to be very frank, and this is hardly the setting to do so comfortably. I see no other recourse, however.”
She sank back into her chair, braced for whatever he might say.
“I am not blind. I can see clearly that your father’s curate, Mr. Pratt, has feelings for you. But even on such short acquaintance as ours, I am convinced he could never make you happy. Yet in such a small place as Little Macclow, what alternatives have you? I merely thought that if you attended the ball at Blakehill, I could see you were introduced to some gentlemen you might find more agreeable, or at least more interesting, than the esteemable curate.”
That was not what she had expected. She stared at him, as if staring could allow her to see into his mind and heart. He had taken a page right out of Lady Anne’s book! What he said was so completely unselfish, she was astounded. Grateful, certainly. He proposed exactly what she wanted, did he not?
Yet, truthfully, deep down his words also hurt–stupidly so. She’d thought he wanted her. Even short moments ago his conversation had still seemed to express desire, even though he’d not used any actual words.
Had she been wrong? Was it all mere flirtation on his part? Was the attraction she was fighting all hers alone?
How foolish could her heart become?
He was waiting for her answer.
“You are not wrong,” she confessed. It was easier to look down at the table than at him. “In fact, on Sunday Mr. Pratt asked me to marry him.”
“And yet you are going to the ball!” He held his ale in one hand, but the other formed a fist on the table. “Am I to assume then that you refused him?”
She shook her head, turning her china mug in a tight little circle. “I asked for some time to consider my answer. Does that strike you as cowardly? Perhaps it was, but in truth I wanted time to discover whether I have any other choices.”
His expression darkened. “What sort of choices?”
“A teaching post at a girls’ academy, for instance, or a position as a governess. Or perhaps, as you mentioned, some other gentleman who might consider taking me as his wife. One of my reasons for going to your parents’ ball is to meet people and possibly form some connections that could help. So, our purposes seem to march together, surprisingly.”
Both hands gripped his tankard tightly, rather as if he were going to throttle the life out of it. He spoke through gritted teeth. “You cannot take a position as a governess, and you should not be reduced to teaching in a girls’ school.”
She bristled. “Why should I not?”
“You are the granddaughter of an earl!”
She nearly spit out the sip of ratafia she had just taken. Instead she choked on it, setting her mug down abruptly. After a moment, when she could breathe again, she demanded, “How do you know that?”
He jerked his head towards the dancers. “Lady Anne.”
“How long have you known?”
“She told me yesterday. If it matters to you, that was after I had delivered your invitation. It changed nothing.”
“She had no right.”
“I believe it just slipped out. She meant no harm.”
“Anyway, it signifies nothing. I have no contact with my mother’s relatives, have never met any of them, and have no expectation I ever will.”
“Ah.” His lowered brows eased up and he looked calmer. He took another sip of his ale. “You might have to adjust that expectation.”
A little quiver of alarm ran through her. “Why is that?”
“I believe Lady Anne said your grandfather was the 4th Earl of Brinton? The current earl and one or two of his sisters are very likely to be guests at the ball tomorrow, if they are not spending Christmas out of the area. They are good people. I think you could like them.”
She stared at him. First his attitude, then her secret. Now this? Worse and worse!
She would have to face the very people who were the source of her father’s bitterness. Who were they? Were they young? Old? Married? Single? How would they act? Did they even know of her existence? Would they spurn her?
With every bone in her body she doubted that she could like them. She had hated them for her entire life. At this moment she could even hate him, for creating this situation. She wished he had never invited her to the ball. Her blood was boiling.
She tried to control her voice. “All of my life I have been taught that the titled are arrogant and self-indulgent, focused only on their own concerns and disdainful of those in lower stations. Especially that family. Another reason I wanted to attend your ball is to see for myself if my father is right in his assessment.”
“Oof. That is harsh. No wonder your father disliked me before he ever met me. But tell me honestly, do you find Lady Anne to be so? Dare I ask if you have found me so?”
“Lady Anne chose to marry below her station, more a confirmation than an exception, in my view. Her warm heart is unsuited to the high levels of society. I always thought it was no wonder she stepped away. On the other hand, you are a puzzle–arrogant, certainly, but every time I think you fit the expected model of selfishness and disdain, you do something to surprise me.”
Until now. She had expected better of him–understanding if not exactly support. Disappointment was mixing in with all of her other roiled emotions. Teaching at a school or being a governess were respectable careers for an unmarried woman. And she had merely raised them as possibilities! What right had he to react so vehemently?
Did not his response prove Papa was right, that someone of Lord Forthhurst’s station would view honest, helpful work beneath her just because her grandfather had been a peer? Apparently the viscount did harbor the same social prejudices as the rest of his entitled brethren.
He was smiling, obviously unaware of her turmoil. “I’ll grant you that at times I can be arrogant. But I’m pleased not to be judged a predictable dullard. That might be worse than all of those other horrifying attributes you listed.”
Of course he wouldn’t take her words seriously. He was a jester, the Lord of Misrule with or without the hat. But Cassie was still struggling with everything their conversation had just revealed, perhaps above all the idea that she might face members of her mother’s family tomorrow.
How would she conceal the bitterness she harbored against them? Attending the ball now began to seem a huge mistake. She had no chance to pursue the conversation further, however, for just then Lady Anne and the squire returned to the table, laughing and out of breath.
“Oh, my! That went on much longer than we were expecting!” Lady Anne dropped into her chair quite a bit less gracefully than was her usual style.
“Think we might have to pass up any more dancing this evening,” Squire added. “Need to save something for tomorrow.” He winked at Cassie and set his bulky frame heavily into the remaining chair. With an eager sigh he grasped the tankard sitting in front of him. “This is what I need now!”
Lady Anne patted his arm affectionately. “Go easy, Tobias. Midnight is not far off, and when the new year rings in, there will be toasts aplenty, I’m certain.”
Cassie risked a glance at Lord Forthhurst over the rim of her mug as she sipped her ratafia. At midnight there would be toasts, yes, and probably kissing, at least between couples. In such a public space as this, would he dare try to kiss her? Would he even want to? He should not, but could he be trusted to honor propriety? For a self-proclaimed devil, he had been behaving very correctly.
She looked away quickly. The ratafia must be going to her head. Even in her disappointment with him the simple sight of him was stoking fires within her she felt certain ought not to be there. She remembered well the velvet softness of his lips, the searing connection they had delivered under the mistletoe. She had never truly put that first kiss behind her.
Glancing at him again, she found his gaze fixed upon her. He leaned back in his chair, a portrait of relaxation. Slipping two fingers into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out his watch.
“Ah. Two minutes until midnight.” He smiled, a slow, potent smile. In it she thought she read intent. “Anticipation is all, do you not agree Miss Tamworth?”
Drat him! With a single word he stirred every feeling she was fighting.
Undoubtedly that was an unlucky state to be in at the start of a new year.