If You’ll Have Me (Proper Romance)

Chapter 1

W

“If my father has taught me anything, it is this: When you are surrounded by people who love you, you never suffer alone.”

It wasn’t every day I found myself alone, dangling precariously from a tree and feeling a thousand times a fool.

The fool part had become a regular occurrence, unfortunately, but the tree?

I hadn’t climbed one since I was much younger, and suddenly, it became very clear why.

I wasn’t prepared for the drop it would take to get me back onto solid ground.

I tightened my grip on the branch above me and glanced down around my swaying skirts to the path below.

This limb couldn’t have been this high eight and a half years ago, for I’d dropped from it dozens of times when I was seventeen.

Exactly how many inches had this tree grown in the years I’d been away?

More than I had, that was for certain.

I gritted my teeth and threw my weight, willing my hands with all my might to slide forward and catch a better hold on the thick branch above my head.

Why in the world had I decided I needed to relive my youth?

Alone.

Far enough away from Mr. Preston’s cottage that Mama would never hear me, even if I yelled.

The wool of my gloves snagged on the rough bark of the limb above me, but my hands weren’t so fortunate and started to slip out of them.

When Mama and I arrived the day before, I’d had high hopes that Breckenridge would afford us the same safety and comfort it had when Papa had been alive, but things hadn’t turned out that way at all.

Papa’s dear friends the Prestons were kind but couldn’t help us as much as I’d hoped, and when I’d tried to visit my good friends the Mortensens, I’d found their home empty and so very changed on the outside that I wasn’t even certain they lived there anymore.

If I broke my leg falling from this tree, we would not only soon have no place to live, but I would also no longer be able to look for work. All of Mama’s fears about coming here would come true. We would be left destitute and alone.

I let out a puff of air in frustration. If I did break my leg and it set oddly, would Mr. Green give up on marrying me? Perhaps we could return to Silverfork. A broken leg would be a small price to pay to rid myself of Mr. Green’s controlling ways.

My arms were starting to shake, and my fingers started slipping out of my gloves.

I swung my feet up and used the momentum to lift my hands, catching the limb in a better hold once again, but my new handhold would last only so long.

Whether I wanted to make the leap or not, I was going to crash to the ground.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t that far. Only six or seven feet.

I’d survive. I might not even break anything.

A distinct crunch sounded below me, somewhere to the left. I tightened my grip once more and carefully opened one eye. Through the late-morning fog, a gentleman, with a spring in his step, too young and spry to be Mr. Preston, walked along the path leading directly to me.

I was about to have a witness to my foolishness.

As much as I’d hoped for help earlier, suddenly, it was the last thing I wanted now that it was possible.

What kind of twenty-five-year-old woman got stuck in trees?

I held my breath. I could hold on a few more moments, couldn’t I?

Breaking a leg was one thing, but breaking it in front of a gentleman?

Mortifying.

I closed my eyes, praying he would pass me by without noticing and I would be able to fall gracefully to the ground after he left.

The steady crunching stopped, and I grimaced and cracked open my eyes.

He was at least ten feet from me, wearing a wool coat with a fur-lined collar, and there was no doubt he’d seen me.

Our eyes met. His were a brilliant blue, made clear by how widely they stared in my direction.

He was young. Younger than I’d first thought.

A man for certain but only recently. The way he eyed me as if I were a strange woodland creature probably made him look younger than his true age.

He tipped his head to one side. “Are you real?” he asked with a strange sort of wonder in his voice.

I shook my head. “No,” I replied. “I’m not. Please go about your business.”

His mouth closed, and his fists went to each hip.

An amazing smile blossomed on his lips, lighting up his whole face.

The shock of it made me almost lose my grip again.

If I’d been on the cusp of adulthood like he was instead of well past it and world-weary, I would have been flustered by his good looks and charming smile.

He narrowed one of his brilliant eyes at me, and something about the deep half-moons that formed strong lines on either side of his mouth and the way the skin under his eyes lifted as he smiled seemed almost familiar.

“You are real,” he breathed.

My arms were shaking badly enough for his eyes to catch the motion, and if I lost another inch of branch, I’d be dropping to the ground. “Perhaps you could help?” My voice came out as an undignified squeak.

His look of disbelief was instantly replaced by action.

He threw off his top hat, revealing thick dark hair that contrasted sharply against his pale skin and eyes.

He left it disregarded on the ground behind him as he ran in my direction.

In only a few steps he would be directly under me.

I looked down at my skirts, and a sickening tightness coiled in my stomach.

Under my overcoat, I wore a second woolen coat, my muslin gown, and several petticoats to keep warm.

Multiple layers but perhaps not enough to allow a strikingly good-looking young man to stand directly beneath me without getting a view of my drawers.

“Stop.” The word sputtered from my mouth. “Don’t come any closer.”

He stumbled as he immediately halted and looked up, one corner of his mouth lifted and his eyebrows furrowed.

He must be thinking he’d stumbled upon a madwoman.

I hated to be particular about the kind of fortuitous help I’d been granted, but would it have been too much to ask for the man to be at least a little less handsome?

Or old? Perhaps blind? An old, blind man would have been the perfect person to catch me.

But no, I was graced with a man, perhaps twenty, who would cause a stir if he entered a ballroom.

His light eyes sparkled, and he lifted one dark eyebrow in a way that again seemed to spark a memory. “I can’t help you from here.”

“Wonderful.” I tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need your help. It isn’t far, just a few feet.”

“It is more than a few feet. Your toes wouldn’t reach my head.”

“I do this all the time.” The shaking in my arms was a direct contradiction to my words. Every muscle in my fingers begged for relief.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I highly doubt that, Anna. Or I would have found you here sooner.”

My eyes flew to his face again. He knew my name?

Who was he? Not a Preston—Mrs. and Mr. Preston’s children were all several years my senior.

And none of the Mortensen boys could be this well dressed.

I’d spent my summer with poor tenants and members of the Preston family.

Who else would even remember me? Perhaps someone I’d met at church a time or two, but if that were the case, I had no recollection of him. “How do you know me?”

“Never mind that,” he said, walking toward me once again. “I’m going to catch you.”

His legs made short work of the few feet left between us.

I sucked in a sharp breath of air. “Just don’t look up!”

“Don’t look up?” he repeated and then stopped his forward progress for a moment. “How am I going to catch you if I don’t look up?”

“If you must look up, close your eyes, at least.”

He chuckled, and the deep way it resonated in his throat had me questioning my earlier assessment of his age. A man of twenty didn’t sound like that, did they? “Close my eyes?” he asked, incredulity clearly written on his face.

Was this man going to stand there and repeat every word I said? I might not be so fortunate as to have stumbled upon a blind man, but perhaps he had trouble with his memory. He could help me, go on his way, and forget I’d ever been foolish enough to climb this tree.

Of course, the fact that he somehow recognized me from my summer of living in the Prestons’ cottage over eight years ago dashed the hope that his brain might be addled. His memory was better than mine.

My right hand finally slipped, and I fell from the tree with a scream.

He jumped forward to catch me, and without his feet steady beneath him, we both tumbled to the ground.

We landed in a flurry of skirts and muffled curses, made mostly by me, before the world settled and became suddenly quiet.

I was facedown and definitely resting on top of someone.

I kept my eyes closed tightly as I tested my lungs, making certain I could still breathe.

Then I tried moving my fingers and toes.

They all worked, and my only pain was my sore hands.

A deep rumble under my chest was the first reminder of whom exactly I had to thank for my safe, if not gracious, landing.

The rumble turned into a laugh, and I opened my eyes to find myself face-to-face with my rescuer, his back on the ground.

His eyes shined with mirth, and his broad grin didn’t even try to contain his merriment.

His dark hair was disheveled, but it did nothing to diminish his appearance; if anything, it enhanced it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the action of it reminding me of our indelicate situation.

I hurriedly rolled off his chest and sat up, but he stayed there, lying on the ground with his arms splayed out.

Laughing.

“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out.

More laughing.

“I’ll be more careful from now on.”