Chapter Ten
Several Days Before Christmas
Phillip arrived at the town hall promptly at eight in the evening. Tonight was the grand holiday celebration when the whole village gathered to eat, drink, and be merry.
As the carriage rolled to a stop outside the large stone building, he took a steadying breath.
For the last six months, he’d remained away—aside from the incident involving his mother and the damned butler stealing away to his hunting lodge last month.
The thought of the incident left him with a bitter disposition, so he pushed it aside.
That visit had been brief, and he had not ventured into the village during that occasion, although he had wished to do so. He had not received a response to his daily letters. Cora remained silent, but still he sent a daily missive.
Some had been of little consequence while others had borne his hopes and dreams, stories of his past or his travels, and sometimes hidden pieces of his soul he’d kept tucked away.
Cora had never replied—nor had she acknowledged his confessions. Still, Phillip held hope.
He’d vowed he would give her as much time as necessary, but he could no longer keep pining over a woman who did not love him.
It was unfair to her and torment for him.
He had to show her that this was more than a secret love affair, and he was more than willing to do so in front of the whole village.
When the footman opened the carriage door, Phillip cleared his throat and stepped out into the cold December evening. A gentle flurry fell from the sky, dusting the ground and buildings with a fresh coat of snow. It crunched beneath his polished boots and lay delicately upon his wool greatcoat.
As Phillip approached the building, his insides twisted with worry, making him slightly nauseated. He swallowed hard and paused just outside the door. The faint strains of music echoed through the solid wood. It washed over him in a wave of warmth and familiarity as the entrance opened before him.
Phillip stepped over the threshold. The footman took his hat and coat before disappearing from view.
From the vestibule, Phillip could hear the boisterous conversations, joyful music, and children’s laughter.
He paused, straightening his tie and burying his apprehension.
Only then did he enter the village festivities.
As Phillip wove through the crowd, curious glances and whispers began to circulate through the room. Villagers he’d met and spoken to on numerous occasions turned to gape at him when he passed.
At first, he worried it was his sudden appearance, then he realized his attire. He wore his best suit, made of the finest fabrics and a gold embroidered waistcoat. His valet had ensured he looked like the Duke of Tolland, and not some steward sent in the duke’s name.
Whispers followed behind his steps, but his attention remained focused on finding her.
His gaze swept over the gathered villagers, their wide eyes fixed on him as their mouths opened in silent surprise.
Shock rippled through the congregation, and a hum of what he could only assume was gossip slowly spread. He continued on unbothered.
A short, stout gentleman appeared before him. The mayor of Glenbrae. He bowed, his gray whiskers twitching as he spoke. “Your Grace, you honor us with your presence.”
Phillip inclined his head. “I have come to speak with Mrs. Maynard.”
The old man blinked twice before he replied. “Oh, uh, of course.” He turned. “Cora.” Her name carried over the hushed murmurs of the crowd.
His heart stopped beating when she stepped from the shadows and into the light. Her dark hair lay in waves over her shoulder, pinned just enough to keep it out of her face. Those penetrating eyes fixed on him and her lush lips pressed into a thin line.
She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
Cora crossed the floor, stopping just out of reach. “Your Grace,” she said, curtsying. “What brings you so far north this cold winter night?”
“I apologize for my abrupt appearance.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, attempting to remain composed and failing miserably. “But I must speak with you on a matter of urgency.”
“You have my attention,” she said, her posture stiff. “What is of such great importance it cannot wait?”
“I have waited long enough.” Phillip cleared his throat. “Cora, I have suffered in vain for these past six months, and I cannot bear another moment without you.”
A soft, collective gasp rose from the gathered crowd. He ignored it and continued.
“Since the first moment I saw you, I have been bewitched.” He paused. “Your beauty, honesty, and grace have entranced me. I am unable and unwilling to allow another day to pass without telling you how ardently I adore you and wish for you to become my wife.”
This time, the audible gasp came from Cora. Her lips parted.
“I offer you my hand and my heart. Cora Maynard, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and my duchess?” The words left his tongue in a rush, and all the breath whooshed out of him as he fell silent, awaiting her response.
Cora’s gaze bore deep into his soul, and her hesitation shook the very core of his being.
“I do not require an answer this moment. Think upon it if you must.” He licked his lips. “I could not bear another day passing without you knowing the truth of my affection and the sincerity of my request.”
A flush of red stained her neck, creeping steadily into her cheeks. She sighed, pinching her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, she narrowed her gaze.
Phillip worried such a look might strike him dead.
Without a word, Cora closed the gap between them, took his arm, and pulled him toward the door through which he had entered.
As the door closed behind them, a flurry of commotion erupted inside the town hall, causing Phillip a great amount of concern.
But it grew when the woman he loved rounded on him and jabbed a finger against his chest—like an arrow straight into his heart.
Defeat loomed over him as he awaited his fate.