A Wallflower Christmas
Page 16“No, miss,” the girl said, her lower lip trembling.
“Heavens, Hannah,” Natalie exclaimed, “there’s no need to be so cross. I thought this would amuse you, not send you into a temper.”
“I’m not in a temper.” She was devastated, and aroused, and anguished. And most of all, confused. Hannah made her face expressionless as she continued. “But out of respect for Mr. Bowman, I don’t think this should be put on display for others’ amusement. If he is to be your husband, Natalie, you must protect his privacy.”
“I, protect him?” Natalie asked roguishly. “After reading that, I rather think I shall need protection from him.” She shook her head and laughed at Hannah’s silence. “What a spoilsport you are. Go and burn what’s left of it, if that will put you in a better mood.”
SOME MEN, RAFE REFLECTED GRIMLY, WANTED NOTHING MORE for their sons than to carry on the same life they were having.
After a long and vicious argument that morning, it had become clear to him that Thomas would not yield in any way. Rafe must step into the life that his father had planned for him and become, more or less, a reflection of Thomas Bowman. Anything less and his father would regard him as a failure, both as a son and as a man.
The argument had begun when Thomas had told Rafe that he was expected to propose to Lady Natalie by Christmas Eve. “Lord Blandford and I want to announce the betrothal of our children at the Christmas Eve ball.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Rafe had marveled sarcastically. “But I haven’t yet decided whether or not I want to marry her.”
The predictable color had begun to rise in Thomas Bowman’s face. “It’s time to make a decision. You have all the necessary information. You’ve spent enough time with her to be able to assess her qualities. She’s a daughter of the peerage. You know all the rewards that will come your way when you marry. Hell and damnation, why do you even hesitate?”
“I don’t have any feelings for her.”
“So much the better! It will be a steady marriage. It is time to take your place in the world as a man, Rafe.” Thomas had made a visible effort to control his temper as he tried to make himself understood. “Love passes. Beauty fades. Life is not a romantic romp through a meadow.”
“My God, that’s inspiring.”
“You’ve never done as I asked. You never even tried. I wanted a son who would be a help to me, who would understand the importance of what I was doing.”
“I understand that you want to build an empire,” Rafe had said quietly. “And I’ve tried to find a place for myself in your grand scheme. I could do a hell of a lot for the company, and you know it. What I don’t understand is why you want me to prove myself this way first.”
“I want you to demonstrate your commitment to me. As Matthew Swift did. He married the woman I chose for him.”
“He happened to be in love with Daisy,” Rafe snapped.
“And so could you be, with Lady Natalie. But in the end, love doesn’t matter. Men like us marry women who will either further our ambitions, or at least not hinder them. You see what a long and productive marriage your mother and I have had.”
“Thirty years,” Rafe agreed. “And you and Mother can barely stand to be in the same room together.” Sighing tautly, Rafe dragged his hand through his hair. He glanced at his father’s round, obstinate face, with its bristling mustache, and he wondered why Thomas had always been compelled to exert such relentless control over the people around him. “What’s all this for, Father? What reward do you have after all these years of building a fortune? You take no pleasure in your family. You have the temperament of a baited badgerand that’s on your good days. You don’t seem to enjoy much of anything.”
“I enjoy being Thomas Bowman.”
“I’m glad of it. But I don’t think I would enjoy it.”
Thomas stared at him for a long moment. His face softened, and for once, he spoke in a near-fatherly tone. “I’m trying to help you. I wouldn’t ask you to do something I believed to be against your own interests. My judgment about Swift and Daisy was correct, wasn’t it?”
“By some miracle of God, yes,” Rafe muttered.
“You’re right. At first it didn’t matter whom I married. But now I find myself unwilling to pick a wife with no more care than I would exert in choosing a pair of shoes.”
Thomas had looked exasperated. “What has changed since you arrived in England?”
Rafe didn’t answer.
“Is it that brown-haired girl?” his father prodded. “Lady Natalie’s companion?”
He looked at his father alertly. “Why do you ask?”
“It seems you’ve gone more than once to listen to her read at night to a group of children. And you care nothing for children or Christmas stories.” The heavy mustache twitched contemptuously. “She’s common, Rafe.”
“And we’re not? Grandmother was a dockside washwoman, and the devil knows who your father was. And that was just on your side of the”
“I have spent my life trying to elevate this blighted family into something more! Don’t use this girl as a way to avoid your responsibilities. You can have as many of her kind as you desire after you’ve married Lady Natalie. No one would condemn you for it, especially in England. Seduce her. Make her your mistress. I’ll even buy a house for her, if that will please you.”
“Thank you, but I can afford my own mistresses.” Rafe threw his father a glance of dark disgust. “You want this marriage so much that you’re willing to finance the corruption of an innocent girl to accomplish it?”
“Everyone loses their innocence sooner or later.” As Thomas saw Rafe’s expression, his eyes had turned cold. “If you foil everyone’s expectations, and embarrass me in the bargain, I will cut you off. No more chances. You will be disinherited, and renounced.”
“Understood,” Rafe had said curtly.
CHAPTER 13
…and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!
Glancing upward as she finished reading A Christmas Carol, Hannah saw the rapt faces of the children, their eyes shining. There was a brief silence, the shared pleasure of a wonderful story tinged with the regret that it had to end. And then they were all standing, moving about the room, their faces sticky with milk and cookie crumbs, their small hands clapping enthusiastically.
There were two imps on her lap, and one hugging her neck from behind the chair. Hannah looked up as Rafe Bowman approached her. The rhythm of her heart went wild, and she knew her shortness of breath had nothing to do with the small arms clamped around her neck.
His gaze strayed to her disordered clothes and tousled coiffure. “Well done,” he murmured. “You’ve made it feel like Christmas. For everyone.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, trying not to think of his hands on her skin, his mouth
“I need to talk to you.”
Carefully Hannah dislodged the children from her lap and disentangled the arms from her neck. Standing to face him, she tried in vain to straighten her dress and smooth her skirts. She took a deep breath, but her voice emerged with a dismaying lack of force. “I…I don’t see how any good could come of that.”
His gaze was warm and direct. “Nevertheless, I’m going to talk to you.”
The words from his letter drifted through her mind. “I want to kiss every soft place of you …”
Reading the signs of her distress, he relented. “Tomorrow?”
“I need too much of you …”
“Yes,” she said with difficulty.
Comprehending how deeply his presence unnerved her, Rafe gave her a slight nod, his jaw firming. It seemed there were a dozen things he wanted to say, words hovering impatiently on his lips, but something…compassion or pity perhaps…afforded him the necessary self-restraint.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated quietly, and left her.
NANNIES AND NURSERYMAIDS CAME TO COLLECT THE CHILDREN, and Hannah went out into the hallway in a daze of misery.
No one had ever told her that love could make every cell in one’s body hurt.
She was becoming fairly certain that she would not be able to attend Rafe and Natalie’s wedding, that all the events of their married life, the births of children, the celebrations and rituals, would be impossible for her to tolerate. She would stew in jealousy and despair and resentment until she disintegrated. The common wisdom for a woman in her situation was that someday she would meet another man, and she would forget all about Rafe Bowman. But she didn’t want another man. There was no one else like him.
I’m doomed, she thought.
With her head lowered, she plowed along the hallway, intending to go to her room, where she could mope and cry in private. Unfortunately, walking with one’s head down meant one could not precisely see where one was going. She nearly collided with a woman approaching from the opposite direction, someone who walked with a distinctively long, free stride.
They both stopped abruptly, and the woman reached out to steady Hannah.
“My lady,” Hannah gasped, recognizing Lillian. “Oh…I’m so sorry…I beg your pardon …”
“No harm done,” the countess assured her. “My fault, actually. I was hurrying to tell the housekeeper something before I had to meet my sister, and” She paused and stared at Hannah closely. “You look ready to cry,” she said bluntly. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” Hannah said brightly, and a few hot tears spilled out. She sighed and bent her head again. “Oh, bollocks. Forgive me, I must go”
“You poor thing,” Lillian said with genuine sympathy, seeming not at all shocked by the profanity. “Come with me. There’s a private parlor upstairs where we can talk.”
“I can’t,” Hannah whispered. “My lady, forgive me, but you’re the last person I can confide in about this.”
“Oh.” The countess’s eyes, the same velvet brown as her brother’s, widened slightly. “It’s Rafe, isn’t it?”
More tears, welling up no matter how tightly she closed her eyes against them.
“Is there a friend you can talk to?” Lillian asked softly.
“Natalie is my best friend,” Hannah said between sniffles. “So that’s impossible.”
“Then let me be your friend. I’m not sure I can helpbut at least I can try to understand.”
“Yes, myLillian.” Hannah blew her nose and sighed.
“Now, what happened to make you cry?”
“It’s Mr. Bowman…Rafe …” She could not seem to put her words in the proper order, and so she let them tumble out, even knowing Lillian would never be able to make sense of them. “He is so…and I’ve never…and when he kissed me I thought no, it’s merely infatuation, but…and then Mr. Clark proposed, and I realized I couldn’t accept because…and I know it’s too soon. Too fast. But the worst part is the letter, because I don’t even know who he wrote it for!” She went on and on, trying desperately to make herself understood. Somehow, miraculously, Lillian managed to make sense of the mess.
While Hannah poured out the whole story, or at least an expurgated version, Lillian gripped her hands firmly. As Hannah paused to blow her nose again, Lillian said, “I’m going to ring for tea. With brandy.”
She pulled the servants’ bell, and when a maid came to the door, Lillian cracked it open and murmured to her. The maid went to fetch the tea.
Just as Lillian returned to the settee, the door opened, and Daisy Swift poked her head inside. She looked mildly surprised to see Hannah sitting there with Lillian. “Hello. Lillian, you were supposed to play cards.”
“Hang it, I forgot.”
Daisy’s brown eyes were filled with curiosity and sympathy as she glanced at Hannah. “Why are you crying? Is there something I can do?”
“This is a very private and highly sensitive matter,” Lillian told her. “Hannah’s confiding in me.”
“Oh, confide in me, too!” Daisy said earnestly, coming into the room. “I can keep a secret. Better than Lillian, as a matter of fact.”
Without giving Hannah a chance to respond, Daisy closed the door and came to sit beside her sister.
“You are to tell no one,” Lillian said to Daisy sternly. “Hannah is in love with Rafe, and he’s going to propose to Lady Natalie. Except that he’s in love with Hannah.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Hannah said in a muffled voice. “It’s just…the letter …”
“Do you still have it? May I see it?”
Hannah regarded her doubtfully. “It’s very private. He didn’t want anyone to read it.”
“Then he should have burned the damn thing properly,” Lillian said.
“Do show us, Hannah,” Daisy urged. “It will go no further, I promise.”
Carefully Hannah pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket and gave it to Lillian. The sisters bent over it intently.
“Oh, my,” she heard Daisy murmur.
“He doesn’t mince words, does he?” Lillian asked dryly, her brows lifting. She glanced at Hannah. “This is Rafe’s handwriting, and I’ve no doubt he was the author. But it is unusual for him to express himself in such a manner.”
“I’m sure he knows many pretty phrases to attract women,” Hannah mumbled. “He’s a rake.”