Snowbound Surrender Read online

  ‘You were foolish. So was I for not putting a stop to what we were doing and saving us both the risk. But I do not regret it, do you?’

  ‘No,’ he said without hesitation. ‘I cannot imagine my life without that night in it. It has been the one touchstone by which I measure all happiness, all goodness.’

  ‘If there had been a child, I would have written you,’ she said. ‘And demanded that you return. Do not think that my pride would have been greater than common sense. If there was any mistake made, it was a long time ago and I have forgiven myself for it and you as well. And as for the rest?’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps you cannot go back to the way you were. But that does not mean you are obligated to continue down a path that you do not like.’

  Her logic was clear and hard to refute. And though he had meant to avoid her and preserve his sanity, his heart felt lighter for having talked with her. ‘Very well, my dear Lucy. For you, I shall be a better man, just as I always intended.’

  ‘Then let us celebrate your new resolve,’ she said, looking up and past him.

  They were still standing in the doorway of the parlour, beneath the kissing bough, in the same spot they had been when she had changed his life.

  He shook his head and made to back away.

  ‘Just one kiss, Jack. There will be no harm in it.’

  She had said something similar, that faraway night, and he had been just as entranced then as he was now. ‘Just one,’ he repeated, stepping close to her and lowering his mouth to hers.

  She tasted of apples. Or perhaps it was him. Her lips were sweet and fresh, and they made him feel young, awake and alive, just as he had when plunging his head into the apple bucket.

  Her arms twined about his neck, clinging to him as if she needed his support. How she would laugh if she knew that she was the strong one, breathing new life into him as she opened her mouth in surrender. Though he knew he should, he could not manage to refuse her offer. He deepened the kiss and gave her what she wanted.

  With each thrust and parry of their tongues, he felt his fears for the future lessen. He put his hands around her waist, steadying her and himself and wishing this innocent moment could never end. But just as he had the last time they kissed, he felt dangerous stirrings in his body and the desire to end the night in passion.

  Gently, he set her aside, making her moan and reach for him again.

  ‘You said one kiss,’ he reminded her.

  Her grin was as impish as ever. ‘I lied.’

  ‘If you thought that this would change anything... If you thought it would change me? You were wrong,’ he said, silently praying for the strength that he had not had when he was younger.

  ‘I do not want to change you,’ she said. ‘I like you just as you are. I only want to change your mind.’ Then she rose up on tiptoe, kissed him on the chin and plucked two berries from the kissing bough, whistling as she opened the door, walked into the hall and left him alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucy woke on Christmas morning feeling a strange combination of hope and dread. It had been a surprise to learn that Jack viewed his time in the cavalry through such a dark lens, but perhaps it was inevitable. The boy she remembered would have run off to war filled to the brim with dreams of glory and adventure. Disillusionment was unavoidable.

  She had seen enough veterans missing arms and legs and eyes begging in the streets of London to realise that his life could not have been as easy as he’d assumed it would be. He should have known that he would return scarred in some way.

  Perhaps that was what upset him. The Jack she remembered from childhood would have declared a scar to be dashing and an eyepatch piratical. Instead, he had been spared serious injury, but he had likely lost friends and comrades and seen good men, mangled beyond repair.

  Though he had returned unmarked, he was as damaged as any of them. That did not mean that, given enough time and love, he could not heal.

  But she could not give him the help he needed when everyone, including Mr Thoroughgood, assumed she was about to become a vicar’s wife. What had she been thinking to give an ear to his courting? The sort of woman he needed should be even-tempered and obedient, with a gentle touch for the invalid and a good hand for stirring up a calves’-foot jelly or nourishing broth.

  She could not make either of those to save her life, nor was she particularly patient. In fact, she was so defiant that, after being lectured on the subject, she had proclaimed to her maid that she would let the mistletoe rot in the door frame before yielding to the pressure to remove it.

  She could not exactly put the Vicar out of the house on Christmas Day, especially since the servants were still clearing the roads of snow. But that would not prevent her from some small act of rebellion. To this end, she dressed with care in her newest and most colourful day dress.

  It was not a particularly outlandish costume, but William had disapproved of it when last she’d worn it, calling it too risqué, simply because it was turkey red. She could think of no better way to tell him, without words, that she no longer approved of him, or his advice. Today, it made her feel as Christmassy as the sprig of holly on the mantel.

  When she passed the morning-room door, it seemed that not everyone shared her festive mood. Miss Forsythe was sitting alone in an out-of-the-way corner, weeping into her sleeve. Lucy bit her lip as she debated the etiquette of the situation. As hostess, it was probably her duty to quash the poor girl’s desire for privacy. If she could not cheer her, then perhaps she might convince her to cry in her room, where she would not annoy others.

  She entered the room and sat next to Millicent, pulling a fresh handkerchief from her pocket. ‘I am sorry,’ Lucy said, offering her the linen, ‘but I could not help noticing that you are in distress. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No,’ the other girl replied. The word was drawn out like the howl of a wounded puppy. ‘I am fine. Thank you,’ she added, swallowing the next sob by sealing her lips tight against it and letting it escape in a whine.

  Lucy gave her what she hoped was an encouraging smile. ‘Since none of my other guests is crying on Christmas Day, I cannot help but think you are exaggerating your good spirits.’ She paused. ‘Is it something Fred has done?’

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Forsythe said, then swallowed and announced hurriedly, ‘No. Everything is fine.’

  ‘If he is making you so unhappy, I am sure my brother will release you from your engagement,’ Lucy said, silently cursing him for whatever he had done to make the poor girl so miserable.

  ‘Where did you get the idea that I would wish for such a thing?’ Millicent responded in a shrill voice. ‘Does he no longer want me? Has he said something?’

  This level of alarm was surprising, for Lucy could not imagine what Fred might have said that would frighten her so. ‘Nothing, other than that he dotes on you. I simply noticed that your courtship was short and his offer very sudden. If you wish to postpone the wedding...’

  ‘No!’ Now Millicent looked positively frantic, hovering on the edge of a fresh flood of tears. Then she wailed, ‘Your brother must... We will marry as soon as the banns are finished, just as we planned,’ she said at last, between the sobs.

  ‘That is good,’ Lucy said, still unsure whether it was or not. She had never seen anyone so miserable over the prospect of getting exactly what she claimed she wanted. And she and Fred did seem happy when they were together. She was quite sure that she’d almost caught them kissing the night before last. When she had walked into the parlour, they had been nowhere near the kissing bow, but so dishevelled and red-faced in their casual postures that they had to have been hiding something.

  Which did nothing to explain why Millicent was sniffling now. Lucy sat down beside her and reached out to take her hand. ‘No matter what has been said or done thus far, do not feel constrained to marry in a direction where your heart does not lie.’

&nbs
p; ‘My heart,’ Millicent said, as if wondering what part that organ played in choosing a spouse.

  ‘If there is anything I can do to ease your distress... A talk with my brother, perhaps...’

  ‘I am fine,’ the other girl insisted. ‘Everything is fine. And to change the plans might create a scandal.’

  Lucy bit back a retort. If she continued as she was, crying in public, Miss Forsythe would experience the embarrassment she now feared.

  There was a commotion in the hall, as the door to the main salon had opened and guests were flooding out of it and coming in their direction. Millicent gave a hurried swipe at her face, trying to sweep away the tearstains as Lucy hid the soggy handkerchiefs behind a cushion. By the time Fred opened the door, things looked close to normal.

  ‘We missed you at Morning Prayer,’ he said, with a tight smile and a raised eyebrow towards his betrothed.

  Lucy stared back at him in reproach before saying, ‘Then the Lord will get two complines from us later.’

  Miss Forsythe simply looked guilty.

  Before Fred could ask about her, Lucy announced, ‘Millicent was keeping me company’, which elicited an eager nod from the cowardly girl.

  ‘Well, I hope the pair of you will be finished with your conversation by afternoon. Mr Thoroughgood has suggested that we take an outing to the ice pond for some skating.’

  ‘Surely the weather will keep us indoors,’ Miss Forsythe agreed in a soft voice. ‘And I am not too steady on skates,’ she added. ‘I would not want to risk a fall.’

  Lucy started. She could think of at least one reason, other than natural timidity, that would make a girl concerned about the possibility of a fall. It would also leave one prone to irrational tears and a fear of the future and a wedding too slow in coming.

  But Fred was grinning at her, obviously unaware of the reason for her distress. ‘Since the coachman has already affixed the runners to the carriage and broken a trail to the village, there should be no trouble reaching the pond at the bottom of the garden. And as for skating? I am sure you will not have problems with these.’ He produced a pair of skates from behind his back. ‘They are fine Dutch blades that will strap right to your shoes.’

  ‘You can persuade a gentleman to pull you about in the sledge should you get tired,’ Lucy supplied, wondering how soon it would take for her new sister to claim fatigue.

  ‘That would be very nice,’ Millicent said. The last of the tears had disappeared and she was looking at Fred with a gaze that would melt ice.

  ‘Are you sure it is not too warm?’ Jack said from behind him, glancing out the window and gauging the temperature with his hand by the warmth of the sun on the window glass. He looked to Fred with a serious expression. ‘Yesterday’s snow is already beginning to melt and the ice may not be thick enough to support us.’

  ‘It has not been warm for long,’ her brother insisted.

  ‘I am sure if Fredrick says it is all right...’ Millicent added.

  ‘If Frederick is sure,’ Jack said, letting friendly mockery creep into his voice. ‘Then how can I refuse?’

  ‘Skating sounds like a very proper way to pass the afternoon,’ the Vicar supplied, pushing past them and entering the room to stare at Lucy’s dress in disapproval. ‘You will have to change before, of course. But it will be good exercise for the young, with none of the risks of some Christmastime activities.’

  He meant the kissing bough, she supposed. ‘This dress will be warm enough,’ Lucy replied in a tone as cold as the mill pond. ‘I have heard it is even possible to dance on ice, if a partner is skilled enough. Perhaps Major Gascoyne can teach us to waltz. It was all the rage in Brussels.’

  Despite himself, Jack grinned. Then he seemed to remember that there would be no more waltzing in their future, with or without ice.

  ‘Perhaps, if the ice is thick enough,’ Jack said again, with doubt.

  ‘I will have the servants test it before we go out,’ Fred assured him, surprised. ‘And I never thought to hear you worry about such things. Back in the day, you were always the first on the pond and the last to leave.’

  ‘People change,’ Jack said, looking at the sun shining on the snow.

  * * *

  That afternoon, they went to the pond as planned, where the servants had marked out a large circle of ice deemed safe for skating. Then they had sharpened and polished the skates and arranged benches on the shore with blankets and hot drinks for any of the guests who tired of the fun. The little sledge that Millicent had wanted had been freshly painted since last winter and was a brilliant red and gold, the ribbons pressed and hung with silver bells that jingled when the gentlemen took turns pushing the ladies about on the ice.

  Despite Jack’s cautions not to do anything foolish, the children formed lines and played crack the whip, sending each other hurtling off towards the bank when they could no longer hold on and laughing each time they fell.

  Lucy envied them. If she had been alone, she would have raced across the pond, until the wind blew the pins from her hair and turned the tip of her nose numb. It would be sweet freedom to go so fast, perhaps with the sort of man who would hold her and cheer her on rather than cautioning her to be a sedate and proper lady.

  There was to be nothing so exciting for her. After the interlude in the parlour, Jack seemed intent on ignoring her, leaving her in Mr Thoroughgood’s competent and non-waltzing arms.

  In fact, everything about the Vicar’s behaviour out of doors was as hidebound as it was inside the house. He made sure that he was the one to help her on with her skates and, as he did so, his eyes kept an unwavering focus on her feet so as not to risk glimpsing her ankles. Then he slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, wedging it tightly so there was no chance of escape. ‘Do not worry, my dear. There will be no risk of falling while I am here.’

  ‘Of course not, Mr Thoroughgood,’ she said, half-wishing that they would take a tumble, just to prove him wrong.

  But even if he had been unstable, he was averse to moving at a speed faster than he might have managed if he had been picking his way across the ice in his boots.

  As they inched forward, he shot a disapproving glance towards Jack, who had warmed to the idea of skating now that they were out on the ice. He was pushing the sled with all his might. His skate blades dug deep into the ice as he gained speed, making two young ladies shriek with laughter as he gave a final push and released the sledge to spin wildly across the pond.

  It was inappropriate to feel jealousy. But she could not help a little envy. Her own partner was moving so slowly that she had given up trying to skate at all for fear of outdistancing him in a single glide. Instead, she had to let him tow her along like an inanimate object.

  But she could not remain silent much longer. They seemed to be getting uncomfortably close to the edge of the area that had been swept clear by the footmen.

  When she pointed out this fact to him, the Vicar tutted in disapproval. ‘My, but you are argumentative today. You must learn to trust my judgement in things large and small. And I say we should move further away from the crowd, Miss Clifton. We do not want to risk being knocked down.’

  ‘Are you sure it is safe?’ she said, more worried about safety than fighting for autonomy. ‘The servants have tested this portion of the ice. But I do not know...’

  ‘Do not trouble your head, Miss Clifton,’ the Vicar said in a firm tone. ‘We are in far more danger skating too close to those young boys and their sharp blades than we will be on fresh, clean ice that God himself has produced for us.’

  She was more than a little annoyed. Jack might have been a bounder, but at least he had not treated her as if she was a foolish woman, not even when they were young. Later today, when she had managed to disentangle herself from Mr Thoroughgood’s grasp, she would untie any further bonds that the Vicar had on her and go her own way. It would be better to hav
e a future full of loneliness than to spend the rest of her life in resentment. She could not stand another cautious admonition and, if Jack remained insistent that he would not have her, she’d just as soon have no one at all.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed by a moment of terrifying silence as the world dropped away beneath her. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she had sunk below the ice, into the water. Perhaps it was from the cold, or perhaps the shock of being thrown into the situation that would probably end her life, but time slowed and each moment had clarity and distinction, to be considered in turn as it passed.

  She still had lungs full of air. It was quite possibly all the air she could ever have. Thank the Lord she had been too startled to gasp, or even to cry out for help. Had she done that, her life might be over already.

  She was sinking, fast but not far. She had been swimming in this lake for most of her life. Even after fighting through the weeds, the bottom was barely ten feet from the surface. That was still almost five feet above her head. A few good kicks and...

  She had never had to fight against her skirts to swim. The metal blades that made it so easy to glide on the ice were as heavy as lead now that she was trying to kick free of them. But she had no choice other than to try for the surface so she scissored her legs furiously until she felt slow, upwards movement.

  Unlike her summer swims, the water hurt wherever it touched her skin. It was cold and sharp as knives. She had to bite her lip to stop her teeth from chattering and releasing her precious breath. One hand was weighed down by a wet mitten, the bare skin of the other burned. She could imagine the Vicar holding an empty muff, still in shock that she was gone.

  And her eyes. Dear God, it hurt to open them. And there was no point in doing it, for what had seemed clear as diamonds from the top blocked all light, here below.

  She managed a last kick and felt her hands bang against what ought to be open water. Rather than breaking in waves, it was a solid wall blocking her escape. She groped desperately, searching for the hole that she had fallen through. Instead, it felt like the ice had let her pass, then frozen solid again to trap her.