Chapter Forty-Six
Cynthia had bought the Christmas goose she had promised, but the prospect of it held no pleasure for her.
Neither did the holly and ivy Will had cut and brought in that day to decorate the hearth.
She and Ruby had hung it, but the bright red berries roused no joy in her heart.
She usually enjoyed the sights and smells of Christmas.
She would make mince pies, and a pudding would boil gently for hours in its muslin cloth over the kitchen fire.
The fruity smell would fill the cottage.
This year, she went through the motions but felt detached from it all.
She told herself repeatedly that Andrew had been right.
With his title, he could not do what he would have done as plain Mr. Fielding.
She did not blame him. But why had he not even written a short note in response to her letter?
Surely he could not be so very busy? In spite of her resolve not to think about it, she found herself staring into space with that question revolving eternally in her brain.
She would be exhausted when she went to bed, but after three or four hours’ sleep would be wide awake with the same thought front and center in her mind.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She wished she could simply go to sleep and not wake up till it was all over. The prospect of carol singers, bells ringing, the familiar Bible passages — she felt she couldn’t face any of it.
She was sitting by the fire with Teacup on her lap, doing nothing.
It was mid-afternoon and would soon be getting dark, but she couldn’t be bothered to light the candles.
The cat seemed as depressed as she. She never even tried to climb up on her bed any more.
Cynthia had left the door to Andrew’s room open a crack, and Teacup slipped in there every night to sleep on Andrew’s pillow.
The bed clothes had been washed, but, understanding that the cat missed Andrew as much as she did, Cynthia had not washed the pillow slip.
There was the sound of hooves outside and then the click of the gate latch.
Who on earth could it be at that time of day?
She put Teacup down and dragged herself out of her chair.
She had not got to the front door before it was unceremoniously flung open and Andrew strode in.
Without a word, he threw his arms around her and kissed her so hard she couldn’t breathe.
Teacup ran to her hero mewing vociferously, and tried to jump up his legs.
“What did you mean by sending me that ridiculous letter?” demanded Andrew, when he finally let her go.
“But I thought…” said Cynthia, trying to still the beating of her heart, “and you didn’t write back, so…”
Andrew had bent to pick up Teacup, who patted his face with her paw, and settled into his arms purring loudly. “I only got it three days ago,” he replied. “I’ve been in the Fens for the past month or more.”
“Oh!” said Cynthia. “I didn’t think of that. I mean, I guessed you would be going there, but I didn’t think my letter would get to you in London after you’d left.”
“Well, Lord Doncaster, London wasn’t exactly a precise direction, you goose!”
“I’m not the goose, you are!” Cynthia’s spirit was beginning to return. “How was I to know the correct one? You left in such a rush, you never gave it to me.”
Andrew put Teacup down and regarded Cynthia severely. “I hope you don’t think you can scold me like that once we are married,” he said. “Quite apart from my elevated rank, I shall expect to be master in my own house.”
“So you shall be, in your castle, or manor house, or whatever, taking care of your vast estate. That’s what you said in your letter.”
“I most certainly did not. You obviously misunderstood me.”
“But I thought that’s what you meant! You said that as the Earl, you couldn’t continue as plain Mr. Fielding, and I thought that meant couldn’t marry me! I thought you wanted me to release you.”
“You thought altogether too much!” He gathered her into his arms again.
“The knowledge that I was marrying you is all that has kept me sane these last weeks! I do not own a castle, or a manor house. At least, I do, but it’s let out to a merchant who has a great deal more money than I.
If you won’t marry me and let me live here, I shall be homeless.
I’ll have to take to the road again, and throw myself on the mercy of strangers. ”
“Never!” cried Cynthia, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, my darling, never again!”
“Good. Then let’s go and get married. Today. Now.”
“Don’t be silly. We can’t. The banns haven’t been read.”
“What did I say about being master in my own house? Yes, we can. I have a special license from the Bishop of London, and I stopped in to see the vicar on my way past. He’s expecting us.”
“But…” began Cynthia. Then she stopped and smiled up at him. She curtseyed. “Yes, my lord,” she said.