Chapter Twenty-One #2
She somehow could not imagine Miss Haviland speaking of love. But perhaps that was uncharitable of her.
“She lost two fiancés within a few years of each other when she was very young,” he said.
“Both were officers who died in battle. She loved each of them in turn very dearly and has spent the intervening years mourning for them, whether it has been conscious or not. She has tried to eliminate deep sentiment from her life for fear of being cruelly hurt again. But I believe her experience here has helped her, and her ability to admit she did not want to marry me has somehow opened her to want to love again.”
There. She had been uncharitable.
“She has been looking unusually happy today,” she said. “I suppose you helped her see the truth.”
“I hope so,” he said. “I was obligated to her, you know, and would have married her if our conversation had gone differently. I had recently concluded that not having found love by the age of thirty-four, I never would find it and ought to settle for sober common sense instead.”
“She is very beautiful,” she said.
“Yes, she is,” he said. “But not in the way you are beautiful, Win. The sight of her does not smite me to the heart.”
“And the sight of me does?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Then you must be half blind,” she said.
He laughed. “I do love you,” he said.
—
Nicholas let Winifred go alone into the ballroom and waited outside for a while.
He strolled down to the southern corner of the house and breathed in the cool night air.
There was no sign of life at the front here.
No one was leaving yet, and no one had left the ballroom for a romantic stroll outside.
Not in this direction anyway. Sounds of a sprightly country dance came from inside the ballroom.
He wondered if panic would strike, either tonight or tomorrow, when he must have a talk with Joel Cunningham, not to mention his own family.
It did not seem to him that anyone suspected, though he could be wrong.
What had seemed private and secret to him might be as plain as day to the people who knew him best. He just hoped none of the Havilands suspected.
He would not panic. He was as sure of his feelings for Winifred as he had ever been about anything. And despite the numerous and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, he did not doubt her love for him.
And yet, just a short while ago he had thought her plain and a bit drab and a whole lot na?ve. And startlingly forthright. Unfeminine. Real. Attractive.
Yes, he had been attracted from the start. Even when she was forbidden to him in two ways—by his commitment to Grace and by Owen’s possible commitment to her.
Now he was betrothed to her.
The country dance was coming to an end as he stepped into the doorway.
The dancers were looking flushed and breathless.
Couples drifted apart and either collapsed onto vacant chairs or looked about for their next partners.
Bertrand had been dancing with Eluned, Owen with Ariel Wexford, his mother with Uncle Charles Ware, Grace with Clarence.
Winifred stood with Andrew, his arm drawn through hers.
He had been tapping his foot before the dance ended, Nicholas noticed.
He must feel the rhythm and see it in the dance even though he could not hear it. He looked happy.
It occurred to Nicholas that he was going to be marrying a family, not just Winifred.
It was no normal family, if there was such a thing.
Was he going to mind? If, for example, she wanted to have one or more of her siblings stay with them for a prolonged visit?
The silent Robbie and his dog? The deaf Andrew?
The timid, clinging twins? The gigglers, Sam and Alice?
The pretty Sarah? Who was left? Jacob—the normal Jacob.
Was there such a thing as normality? He would not mind if any of them came to stay, he realized.
Indeed, he would welcome the people who were so central to her life.
And he would take her to visit them whenever he was able, if it was what she wanted. He suspected she would be homesick.
He would work hard to see that the house in which he would settle her became home to her very soon after their marriage. Somehow, he expected that she would work with him to achieve that goal. And perhaps by this time next year there would be a child on the way.
“Woolgathering, Nick?” Devlin asked, coming to join him. “The day has been a great success, has it not?”
“Perfection,” Nicholas said. “There is nothing anywhere to match the Ravenswood/Boscombe summer fete.”
“Not that we are biased in any way,” Devlin said, grinning at him. “I just hope Gwyneth is not tiring herself out too much.”
“To my knowledge she has always been indefatigable,” Nicholas said.
“Except in the early months of a confinement,” Devlin said.
Nicholas looked sharply at him. “Really?” he said.
“Really,” Devlin said, gazing fondly at his wife, who had joined her parents on the sidelines and was smiling and fanning her face as they talked. “But will she listen when I tell her to slow down? I merely get accused of being a tyrant for my pains.”
It was exactly sixteen years ago that they had discovered their passion for each other, and one day before a bitter, six-year separation.
Gwyneth had been almost betrothed to a talented Welsh musician when Devlin came home from the wars, a hardened, embittered man. Sometimes miracles did happen, though.
“She still thinks she needs to give me a spare as well as the heir,” Devlin said. “Heaven forbid that you remain my heir after Gareth. Not that she ever puts it that way, or even thinks it, I hasten to add.”
Nicholas grinned at him. “Well, congratulations anyway,” he said.
“We were hoping,” Devlin said, “that you were going to be well on the way to being married yourself this week. Happily ever after and all that. It was just not to be, was it?”
“Friends, not lovers,” Nicholas said. “Which is what I discovered with another woman a little over sixteen years ago, I seem to remember. Maybe I am fated to have a whole host of female friends but no lover.”
“I doubt it,” Devlin said. “Not when I see the way all the women here, especially the unmarried ones, have been looking at you all day. One of these days you are going to look back at one of them and fall in love. Good Lord, we sound like a couple of women. This is what being an expectant father—again—does to a man. It makes him hideously sentimental.”
Nicholas laughed. Devlin did not suspect, then. Probably no one else did either.
“I had better go ask one of those women for the next dance,” he said, “before they are all spoken for.”
He could see that Owen was leading Winifred onto the floor.
—
Winifred was standing at the open window of her bedchamber later that night when her mother tapped on the door before opening it quietly and letting herself in.
Winifred had been trying to cool her hot cheeks and quiet the teeming thoughts and emotions that tumbled around in her head and would surely make sleep all but impossible.
The ball had ended an hour ago, and all the outside guests had dispersed homeward. The family and houseguests had straggled off to bed a little more slowly. She had changed into her nightgown and brushed out her hair. But she had not lain down.
“I thought you might still be up,” her mother said.
“Yes.” Winifred smiled at her. “It has been a lovely day, has it not?”
“So,” Mama said, coming to stand beside her at the window, though nothing was visible outside while the candles burned inside, “you and Colonel Nicholas Ware?”
“It was very hot when the waltz ended,” Winifred said. “And neither of us was hungry. It was beautifully cool outside. And quiet.”
“We thought it was Owen Ware when we came here,” her mother said. “It never was?”
“Oh, Owen and I are firm friends,” Winifred said. “We have a great deal in common. He is one of those people with whom I can talk endlessly without ever wondering how we are going to fill the silence.”
“We thought that for Colonel Ware it was Miss Haviland,” her mother said. “But there has been no announcement, and they have spent almost no time together today. So much for my matchmaking instincts and Papa’s.”
“He likes her,” Winifred said. “He is fond of her. It turned out, however, that neither of them really wished to marry the other.”
“And this he told you?” her mother said.
“Yes,” Winifred said.
“He is not at all the sort of man I would have expected to capture your heart,” Mama said.
Oh, and she had really thought when she returned to the ballroom that no one had noticed. Of course Mama had. Probably Papa too.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mama asked. “I am guessing you will find it difficult to sleep left to your own company.”
“He is the very last person with whom I would have expected to fall in love,” Winifred said.
“But you have fallen?”
“Yes,” Winifred said.
“Are you likely to have your heart broken?” Mama asked gently.
“Oh no.” Winifred turned to look at her mother with raised eyebrows.
“He loves me too, Mama. We are going to marry. He is going to talk to Papa tomorrow. He asked that we stay quiet about it tonight and tomorrow, though, out of deference for the feelings of the Havilands, who came here on the assumption that his betrothal to Miss Haviland would be announced during their visit. And he did offer for her, because he felt obligated. She refused. And she has looked the happier for it today. I have not imagined that, have I?”
“I do not believe so,” her mother said. “I have noticed a difference in her.”
“Mama,” Winifred said. “I am so happy I feel quite sick.”
They both laughed, and her mother opened her arms to enclose her daughter within their comfort.
“It is all Papa and I have ever wanted for you,” she said.
“Ever since we fell in love with you at the orphanage school. That you be happy, that is, for what remained of your childhood and in whatever you chose to do when you grew up. It is all we want for all our children. One can shelter them only so long before most of them will choose to fly free. It is not a comfortable thing being a parent, Winifred. One wants the world for one’s children but must allow them to choose the nature of that world for themselves.
Shall we sit down on these chairs while you tell me how you came to fall in love with Colonel Nicholas Ware?
I cannot pretend that I am not totally surprised. And puzzled.”
Winifred sighed as they sat down.
“I think it began when he rode past us at the head of his cavalrymen at Trooping the Colour,” she said. “Though I could see only the lower half of his face and was most struck by the firmness of his jaw and the cruelty of his mouth.”
“Ah,” Mama said. “A promising beginning to a romance.”
“Yes,” Winifred said, not hearing the irony in her mother’s voice.
“I believe it started to happen then. And the next time I saw him, at Aunt Anna’s ball, I told him I had thought his mouth cruel, and he looked haughtily at me and bore me off at suppertime to sit opposite him at a private table while he interrogated me on my eligibility to marry his brother.
And he was scornful when I told him, not quite accurately, that I was opposed to all warfare and could not approve of his way of life. ”
“Oh dear me,” her mother said. “You tell such a delicious love story.”
“Yes,” Winifred said dreamily.
—
Nicholas was too restless to go to his room. He wandered back to the ballroom, where the Berrys and various other people were busy doing some essential cleanup jobs, though the bulk of the work would be done by a larger group of volunteers tomorrow.
“No, no,” Jim Berry said, making shooing gestures with his hands when Nicholas offered his help. “We can manage, thank you, sir.”
Nicholas guessed his offered help was seen as more of a hindrance. He stood in the doorway on the other side of the room, one shoulder propped against the frame.
“Dreaming, Nick?” Owen asked, coming up behind him and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Afraid you will not sleep?”
“After such a busy day?” Nicholas said. “It would be strange if I could not.”
“So,” Owen said. “You and Winifred Cunningham?”
Ah. Someone had noticed, then.
“We went walking outside instead of going in for supper,” he said. “Neither of us was hungry, and the air was cool.”
“You are not dangling after her, are you, Nick?” Owen asked. “Toying with her feelings? She has a tender heart, I would have you know. My guess is she can be easily hurt.”
Hell and damnation.
“You do care after all, then, do you?” Nicholas asked.
“Of course I care,” Owen said, frowning indignantly at him. “And I will not have you using your famous charm on her, Nick, only to ignore her tomorrow and maybe break her heart.”
“A poor opinion you have of me,” Nicholas said. “When have I ever been a deliberate heartbreaker, Owen?”
“Probably more times than you realize,” Owen said. “Leave her alone, Nick. Though it is probably too late now to save her from being hurt.”
“It is not possible, you think, that I mean honorably by her?” Nicholas asked. “That I love her and intend to marry her?”
“Highly unlikely,” Owen said. “I am devilish fond of her, Nick, but it is as plain as the nose on your face that she is not your type.”
“My type being?” Nicholas asked. He was starting to feel annoyed.
“Well. Beautiful for starters,” Owen said. “Voluptuous.”
“To me she is the most beautiful woman in the world,” Nicholas said.
“Eh?” his brother said inelegantly.
“And you had better not come out with any other implied insults,” Nicholas said. “I may be tempted to plant you a facer. She is my lady, Owen.”
His brother stared at him, openmouthed. “Well, the devil,” he said.
“You missed your chance a few days ago,” Nicholas said. “Now you may mind your own dashed business.”
But his brother only grinned slowly at him and clapped him on the shoulder again.
“Well, the devil!” he said again.