Chapter 2
Winifred cast her gaze to his hands, one on her shoulder, one on the other.
He let her go and cocked a long brown brow at her.
She blew out a breath of exasperation. “I came only to be polite.”
“So you said. And?”
“This appointment is not wise.” You know it.
“You have served as housekeeper at Bettington Grange for the past few years. You have experience. I have a need. Yes, you and I are friends. That should endear you to taking the position.”
Endear me? I am too much endeared. She lifted her chin. He would not lure her to this outlandish proposal. He could not.
“I do apologize,” she took another tack. “But my father needs me.”
That was fibble-fabble. Her father had bid her go.
“More money! Do it, girl!” The man favored money.
He was the local barrister, retired, known for his stinginess.
But he also had a mad desire to be regarded well, trying for higher status.
She did not blame him. He had contended with the shame her mother had brought on them, trying to make up for it all his life and Winn’s.
More reason why I cannot accept this position
Bennington flowed closer. His subtle cologne washing over her like ambrosia.
She would not retreat but held her ground. What a mistake to have come, to be so near, to tempt herself with the job, his scent, his magnificent shoulders and demanding mouth. But she had come, longing to see him once more before she would never be so near him again.
“Is he truly sick?”
“Sick? My father? No, no. But he grows older, more infirm. He needs me.”
Bettington pouted. Pouted! His fabulous firm lips should do more noble things, even if she did adore his disappointment. “I need you, too.”
Bennington gazed at her with such sorrow in his cerulean -blue eyes that she wanted to weep at her frustration.
“I cannot. It would not be appropriate.”
“In what way?”
“Oh, do not press me!” He was like a dog with a bone, always tugging at her.
“What else can I do? I want you here.”
“I cannot remain with you night after night under one roof.”
“You have done so many nights in the country. Why not here now?”
“Do not show me your anger.” She was miffed with him that he took such a tack. “I am not yours to attack.”
“Attack! I would never do that.”
“Cajole! Influence! Yes, and you have me here.”
He stepped near, his shoulders so wide he blocked out the rest of the world. “I do,” he murmured, his voice a resonant baritone. “And I am happy for it.”
“Well, I am not.”
“No?” he stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers. His fingers beneath her chin. “Look at me.”
Ohhh, the man was going to kiss her. She could taste it, delicious as candy, hard and hot— but no. She dare not have it. She allowed herself one last longing look into his mellow blue eyes. “I must go.”
“Don’t leave me.”
His words like rolling thunder on a far-off hill shook her insides. “I must.”
“Why not stay and see if our friendship can grow?” He bent near and his lips were headed for hers.
She would give him the bald truth. “I know it can. I knew last summer when you kissed me.”
He curled a finger around an errant curl near her cheek. “As I remember, it was you who kissed me.”
“And I should not have!”
He brought her body so close to his, she closed her eyes to ward him off. But she failed.
“Stay. Please,” he begged her in a ragged whisper spoken on her lips.
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
She stared him down and gulped. “I…I have made a personal commitment which…which makes it impossible for me to take this position.”
“What?” Bettington winced. “What kind of commitment?”
She set her jaw and prepared to go to battle. “I…I have accepted a proposal of marriage.”
* * *
Of all the reasons in this world why this woman would not stay and work with him…or rather for him, Bennington had not suspected this! “To whom?”
She opened her mouth, confusion in her eyes. “That is not polite to ask, sir.”
“Who?!”
She set her teeth.
“Very well. When?” he demanded.
“Last..last week, I accepted.”
“Before or after you accepted my offer to come here?”
She stared at him, tears appearing in her eyes.
“Before or after?” he persisted, curling his fingers, holding himself in reserve, against his urge to gather her in his arms and kiss away those tears.
“After! After I got your letter.”
“After you accepted me and sent off your agreement to me?”
“Yes.”
He filled with shock, then sadness and finally a raw anger. “When do you marry?”
“Soon. Very soon. Next week.”
“Next week?” He rocked back on his heels, as satisfied as a man who’d just won a thousand pounds.
“Indeed.” She nodded her head.
He held back the smile that teased at his lips. “You can’t, Winn.”
She bristled. “Of course I can. Sir.”
“No.” He refused to give way and he was certain the world stood firmly with him on this matter. She would be his. Just as he planned. “No one may marry during Advent.”
She frowned.
“Do not mar your brow, my very dear Winn. You cannot marry next week. We are in Advent and no officiant of the Church of England will marry anyone until it ends.”
“Oh.”
She looked dejected. Had she forgotten that?
Well, what a muddle. If Bettington knew anything true about her father, that man most likely had learned of Bettington’s offer of a position and encouraged her.
For the social advantage and for the money, too.
Her sire was so greedy, he most likely demanded a share of her new wages for some fantasy project he had.
A new carriage? A new roof? Now if she went home without the money she had promised to give her father, he would howl.
He always did when money he expected did not come his way.
Each client he’d ever had had learned to make firm contracts in writing on money matters.
Winn often confided in Bettington that she wished her papa would stop.
But he was her father and he had been a loving one, a caring one and kind, until her mother died.
Then for a few years, he lost much. His reason and his clients.
As for his parsimony, that he had always had.
To her sorrow. But his humor had returned and his love for her had never wavered.
Bettington searched for a solution. “Stay through Advent.”
“What? As your housekeeper?”
“Why not? You know the job, the house, the servants. You could bring much stability and peace to us in this Christmas season. Much happiness for the boys, too. We all need it.”
She shook her head. “That is not wise.”
* * *
“Why, Winifred?” Tall, bold, demanding, he was all man with that entreaty. All her man.
“You know why…” She had almost called him by his given name. Walter. Walter. Darling Walter. How he had urged her to address him that day in the garden when she’d been impulsive and put her fingertips to his cheek and her lips to his.
“We will be proper.” He took both her hands.
She retreated. “I do not believe that.”
“We have an entire household who will hold us to etiquette.”
She swallowed a laugh and blushed as if she dare not trust herself to it. “This is serious business. I am engaged, sir.”
“I will double your salary.”
A smile curled her lips. She wanted to laugh. “My lord, no.”
He wanted to chuckle himself. “Triple it, then! Call it a Christmas gift. I assume your father wants a goodly portion for some costly plan?”
She gave him a rueful eye. “He does.”
“Fine. At triple your monthly salary, he will be satisfied you remained with me.”
“But not my fiancé.”
“No? Who is he?”
She huffed. “I do not wish to fight over this.”
Bettington arched both fine brows. “Jerome Landers?”
She made a face.
“Ah. Not the smithy? Fine, fine.” Bettington read her easily. But he stared at her, then his mouth fell open. “Do not tell me you accepted George Detwiler!”
She swallowed and glared at him.
“No, Winn. Not Detwiler of all people.”
“The very one.”
“The owner of the carriage inn! He’s fifty if he’s a day. When did he ask you?” He stepped toward her again. “He asks every June first. On your birthday. Every year since you were sixteen! And every year, you have refused him. Did he ask this past June?”
“He did.”
He could see on her face that that was no lie. “And did you accept him then?”
“No.” The truth was not difficult to blurt out, was it, Winn?
“So! He asked again, did he? Recently?”
She did not answer.
“Hmmm. I see not. So what then? You, my dear Winn, went to him after you got my invitation, after you accepted my offer and you asked him to marry you?”
She straightened her shoulders.
He loomed over her. “If you marry him, you will spend your life cooking and washing and cleaning for guests at the inn. You will die within two years, Winn. Just like his first two wives.”
She fluttered her lashes at his insult and his continued sweet use of her little name. “He is a pleasant man. I like him. And you cannot tell me what to do.”
“But I am even more pleasant. And you more than like me.” He clenched his fists. “You cannot marry him.”
“I will.”
* * *
He ran both hands through his hair. He was done arguing with her! “Very well. Stay until Advent is over. Go back to him then. And take your salary. Give what you will to your father. I am sure Detwiler will be thrilled with a substantial bridal dowry.”
She blinked, fuming. “He asks for nothing.”
“I bet.”
“You know, sir, you are not nice when you are angry.”
He fumed. But he had her. “Remember that, unlike Detwiler, I am slow to anger, my dear.”
She stomped her foot. “I won’t accept your overblown salary.”
“Detwiler won’t like extra money?” he chided her. That man was as bad as her father looking for money in every cubbyhole.
“That’s outrageous, Wal… Sir.”
“I’ll pay it, Winn. Stay.”
He watched her as wheels turned in her head. Her father happy. Her husband to be, thrilled.
She scowled at him. “When it ends, I go then.”
“Ah, really? On Christmas Day? It is so sad for anyone to travel on Christmas Day. I cannot let you go then.” If ever. But I see I must try to make my case in ten days.
“I must go home. My father loves Christmas and I must be with him. Plus, I have to manage Christmas at The Grange.”
“With your efficiency, I am certain they all know what to do without you, Miss Mathers.” He took both her hands again in gentle warmth. His hold had her knees melting. “Stay with us. Celebrate Christmas.”
She locked her dark gaze on his and he knew she looked for reassurance he would keep his hands—and his lips—to himself. “The day afterward, I return to Bettington Grange.”
“Of course,” he said.
But she narrowed her eyes at his tone.
She did not trust him.
And she shouldn’t.