Lily Dalton - Never Desire a Duke

“It’s all proper,” he said, pointing at the mistletoe above them.

From around the room came cheers of approval and laughter from the patrons.

“You see,” he added. “I think all these good people agree.”

Soon they traveled alongside the frozen river. Sophia leaned out with interest, watching as villagers, mostly young people, glided across the surface. Claxton drew the sledge to a stop. Within moments, he’d lightened his pockets of several shillings and secured temporary possession of two pairs of skates.

He would not have to instruct Sophia as she already knew quite well what to do. A happy memory came to mind of last December as newlyweds in London, when they’d skated on the frozen Serpentine. She secured the blade to the bottom of her boot and left him still working to fasten his.

She executed a graceful turn and shouted, “Hurry.”

Within moments, he joined her. He had not much experience himself with the sport, but being generally hearty and athletic and possessed of a solid natural balance, all such diversions fell well within his capability.

Together they stood side by side on the ice, Sophia peering away from Lacenfleet across the river. In the distance, the faintest outline of the spires and towers of London could be seen.

“We could probably skate all the way to the other side.”

“No, it would be too dangerous. The ice isn’t strong enough all the way across.” Again, just the idea of leaving Lacenfleet sent an undercurrent of trepidation through his blood, as if London, like the Thames, was a fast-flowing river and would tear her from his grasp.

She glanced up at him. “I have never spent a Christmas apart from my family. I know it makes me sound like a child, but the holiday and togetherness became even more important to all of us after Vinson’s and my father’s death.”

“It’s good that you have each other. That you are all so close.” He’d not been so fortunate in later years to have that sort of familial bond.

“It’s not just that.” With a turn of her ankles, she skated a small half circle around him. “As you know, my grandfather has been in ill health. It would ease my mind to see that he is well.”

“I know it would.”

“At the same time,” she said softly, coming to a halt. “I’m not sure, if given the chance, that I would change a thing about being snowbound here. With you.”

“Not a single thing?” he teased, reaching out to take her hand and spin her in a gentle pirouette beneath his arm. “Lord Meltenbourne shooting at us. Waking up to a lunatic woman in our bed. A duel on the front lawn?”

“Well, perhaps just a few things.” She grinned.

She skated off into the center of a group of children, who formed a circle about her. How ironic that the idyllic scene took place on the exact path the barge would take as early as tomorrow, conveying them away from Lacenfleet, to the world they had left behind. A clock ticked off time in his head, growing louder and more threatening with each moment. He could not help but feel that things were disintegrating around him before he was ready, before they were strong enough.

Sophia returned to his side. “The boys appear impatient for the return of their skates.”

Returned to the sledge, they traveled toward Camellia House, but instead of following the indentations in the snow indicating their previous travel up and down the hill, they continued along the public road for another quarter mile farther. At a break in the hedge, Claxton directed the horse onto a narrow path into the woods until overgrowth prevented further passage, requiring them to walk the rest of the way. The dense population of trees held much of the snow on their limbs, lessening the amount on the ground below.

“It’s so quiet here,” said Sophia, tucking her scarf at her neck.

“Not in the summer. Try to imagine sunshine and all the trees green and full with leaves. There are birds, and here below, creatures scurrying all about. Perhaps even your Mr. Stoat. It’s better than Vauxhall, I tell you.”

She laughed as if enchanted by the picture he painted. “I should very much like to see that.”

“We’ll visit in the summer, then.”

Just then, she wobbled, her boot having slid on a patch of ice. She grabbed his arm, but he caught her by the waist to steady her. Surrounded by a sanctuary of tall trees and sparkling ice, he pulled her closer for a kiss, which she allowed with a complacent, hazy smile. Instantly after, however, she pulled away and removed herself from him by several feet.

A small fire, born of suspicion, rasped to life in his chest again, larger and hotter this time. Did she only allow his kiss and his touch to placate him? Because she felt as if she had no other choice? What if she only wanted a child, but not him?

For a man who’d never had one moment’s difficulty attracting female companionship, the possibility left him dismayed. Clearly they got along very well, or had these past two days, and better yet, enjoyed each other’s company in bed. Why did she continue to hold herself emotionally apart?

“Which way?” she asked.

“There.” He pointed. “It’s not far.”

The obscure path all but disappeared into a dense tangle of trees. He recalled with vivid clarity every stone, every fallen tree and dip in the path. What joy he and Haden had once known here, with no fear or premonition of the pain their mother’s death would one day bring. With a hand to Sophia’s elbow, he led her forward over exposed roots and fallen trunks. At last he perceived a familiar shadow, the outline of the old structure.

“There, do you see it?” he asked.

As he’d expected, the cottage roof sagged beneath the weight of forest debris and snow. Strangely, though, it appeared that a faint tendril of smoke arose from the chimney.

A woman’s voice pierced the silence, a strangled scream. The breath evaporated in his throat. He and Sophia looked at each other, the blood draining from her face.

“Claxton,” she whispered. “What was that?”

It came again, a female’s desperate cry, as if she were dying. Vane flipped aside his coat and drew his pistol.

He made efficient work of preparing the weapon’s double chambers. “You return to the sledge. If I don’t reappear in five minutes, leave without me.”

“I won’t leave you here.”

“You will,” he insisted fiercely. “You will go to the village and find Mr. Kettle. He will know what to do. Promise me.”

With reluctance, at last she nodded. “I promise.”

He left her there and crept from the shelter of one tree to the next, unsure of what he would face. The woman sobbed, begged for mercy. With all stealth he peered through the window opening unencumbered by glass or shutter. Therein, Vane made out in the dim light a man in a crouched position. He could only assume the woman was being held against her will and assaulted.

Vane crashed through the doorway and aimed his weapon.

“You there,” he shouted. “Stop.”

The man whirled. A man he recognized as the intruder at Camellia House. Before him lay a woman propped on her elbows. Despite the frigid chill, her face was flushed and she perspired. A small fire smoldered on the tiny hearth.

“My wife,” the man exclaimed. “She is having a baby, but something is wrong. The child is not coming. Please help us.”

Claxton lowered his pistol. “Oh my God.”

Ten minutes later, Sophia paced the length of the sledge, whispering prayers for Claxton’s safe return. In the distance, she had heard male voices raised but no gunshots.

All at once, Claxton burst from the forest. Behind him emerged a young man she believed to be the intruder from the night before. He carried a woman, whose head rested on his shoulder. Both appeared ragged and half-frozen through.

Claxton quickly explained in a terse, controlled tone. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Branigan. Mrs. Branigan is having a baby but with difficulties. We’ll take her to Camellia House and I’ll go for Mrs. Kettle.”

Sophia tore the blanket from the seat. “Hurry.”

Mr. Branigan lowered the woman, and Sophia quickly covered her.

“Take her,” Sophia urged, backing away from the sledge. “Just take her and go. We will follow.”

He growled and leaned close, snatching her by the wrist. “I’m not leaving you with him. I don’t know who the hell he is. Get on the sledge. Stand here on the blades in front of me.”

But they’d not gone far when it became clear the horse labored to carry the added weight. With a push against Claxton’s arms, Sophia leapt from the blades.

“Go deliver her to the house,” she insisted. “I’m here, just behind, and will be there momentarily.”

She trudged up the hillside aware of Mr. Branigan behind her, closing the distance. When at last she reached the steps, she passed Claxton on the way out.

“I’ll return as quickly as I can.” He raced toward the sledge. “She is in my room.”

To Sophia’s surprise, Annabelle met her at the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. I know nothing of delivering babies and feared I would be called into service.”

“Who is with the girl now?” demanded Sophia, quickly removing her hat and scarf.

“Why, Lord Meltenbourne,” she responded, as if the answer made perfect sense.

Sophia rushed up the stairs and indeed found the earl sitting beside the bed, one leg crossed at the knee, holding the girl’s hand, looking very much the country physician.

“Now, dear girl,” he said. “If you feel you need to push, then you must push.”

The girl cried, “I can’t. I can’t. Something is wrong. My baby.”